A Vicious Circle
by abhorrent
Summary: L had known, since it had begun, that he would never cease. The cycle would continue until one of them breathed their last. - Light/L, BB/L; rated for mature themes and gore .
1. Obligatory Chapter One

**A/N: **'Ello, 'ello. I'm here to deliver unto you's all a story. With everyone's favorite L-sessive, jam-raping psychopath. I do believe his name is Beyond Birthday—or B, BB, Backup, Rue Ryuuzaki, and "L." Of course, he's going to be his usual self; you know, stalking L, kidnapping him, and raep is imminent. But isn't that what we all love about him?

And, surely, there will be L. Of course, my friends. Light will be presenting himself also. I do believe this shall be a Light/L ficlet, with some BB/L; of course. Why? 'Cause there's not enough of those two, even if L doesn't want it (he's just denying it, you know).

**Warnings:** Gore, violence, gay men on gay men ('CAUSE IT'S JUST PLAIN AWESOME), rape, and other generally dark themes. Oh, and a smidgen of dry humor added into the mix. Oh, and insanity.

Oh, and another warning—I've not yet read _Death Note: Another Note, _nor have I read _How to Read: 13_. Why is that? Because I'm a poor little child, that's why. I cannot afford them. But, if anyone's got some torrents, or wants to explain everything to me, feel free.

**Disclaimer: **Mr. Ohba and Mr. Obata own everything Death Note-affiliated. And, anything that relates to anything else is purely coincidental. All I own is mah fingers, which be typing this story. Oh, and I don't the lyrics below.

* * *

"_The children asked him if to kill was not a sin  
But when he looked so fierce, his mummy butted in  
If looks could kill it would have been us instead of him.."_

* * *

The screeching howl of an alarm was but a faint ring in his ears; the thumping of his own heart the most prominent in his thoughts. He noted with slight distaste that he had already managed to stain his shirt, a disappointing pout on his face as he clicked his tongue. Though, he smirked, the blood felt more natural on his person than his own sweat.

Before long, he noted the soft chuckles that hiccupped between his lips, and he brought up his favorite weapon; licking the mess off of the blade with a satisfied look.

"It's not my jam, but it's fine enough for now." Seemingly pleased with himself, he concealed the object within his back pocket. Eyes the color of crimson scanned the area quickly; every movement caught and memorized with horrifying precision. Noting, and sighing, at the fact that no one had gone after him, he shoved his hands in his pockets and began to stalk away; a slight hop in his step.

"Time to get to work," he mumbled to himself, clapping his hands together like a giddy schoolgirl. "It won't be long, I suppose—he's bound to find out now." He tapped his chin, taking a random left on a corner. Soft, seemingly innocent giggles bubbled forth, and his eyes glimmered in the lamp light.

"No, it shan't be long, my love. I'll see you soon, Lawli."

* * *

Miles away, on the eastern hemisphere, a man who bore a striking similarity to the previous was currently in a predicament of his own. He sat perched in his seat, not unlike a cat ready to pounce; his pale toes clinging to the edge of his black chair. Dark eyes, grey and bland, were fixated on a rather sweet object. He looked almost sullen, the hunch of his back protruding more so than usual.

Beside him, his polar opposite sat. Auburn hair framed a chiseled face, the light bangs seeming to kneel before honey-colored eyes. A lean physique sat upright in a chair, posture almost frightening in it's perfection. Plump lips were, though, set in an almost jarring scowl, and the handsome man's gaze was fitted on the figure beside him.

"Ryuuzaki, are you seriously still depressed? It's been over a month, you know." The tanned male crossed his arms and sat back in his chair; eyes narrowing at the man, impatiently awaiting an answer.

Ryuuzaki, though, seemed more than willing to mull over his response, playing with his cake instead of jumping to respond. Then, almost agonizing in his drawl, he deemed it fit to respond. "Yes, Light-kun, I'm still fairly depressed. Why do you ask?" He turned his wide gaze toward the boy, a thumb coming up to rest comfortably between his lips.

The teen, Light, seemed to flinch at the gaze burdened upon him; he would hate to admit it, but Ryuuzaki's stare still unnerved him so. "Because you look like a kicked puppy, moping around like that. And, you know, you could at least _do_ something. Aren't you supposed to be leading this investigation?" Hoping his answer had had some impact on the man before him, Light's gaze gained more confidence than usual.

But, as per usual, Ryuuzaki showed little to no emotion. That was, save for the innocent look that had plastered itself onto the detective's face. "Are you saying that the rest of this team is too incompetent to work on the case—that the only brilliant mind in this room belongs to myself?" Ryuuzaki's head tilted to the left, the thumb resting on his lower lip. "I daresay, Light-kun, that's very presumptuous of you."

A pink tinge found its way to Light's cheeks, and he gave a small huff. "I said no such thing, Ryuuzaki. Do not put words in my mouth."

A feigned look of shock appeared on the detective's face, almost masking the smug aura he was radiating. "Light-kun, I would never! Just because I disagree with your beliefs is no such premise to accuse me of doing such things. I'm just trying to be observational, it _is_ my job, you know."

Light, then, could almost taste the smirk that was worming it's way onto Ryuuzaki's pallid complexion. So, appearing to cover a yawn with his shackled hand, he gave a harsh tug of the chain—effectively knocking L from his perch and to the floor with a surprised gasp.

"Oh God, Ryuuzaki, I'm so sorry!" He gave a gasp and moved to assist the fallen man, noting dully that two other investigators were rushing to the ebony-haired man's aide. He had to hide the scowl that was begging to show itself, as both Mogi and Matsuda squabbled to pull the lithe man up.

Ryuuzaki merely blinked as he was hauled up; flinching slightly at the contact. He shook the hands on his shoulders off and righted himself; coughing into his hand as his did so. "It's quite all right, Light-kun. No harm done. You shouldn't apologize for your own clumsiness. No one's perfect."

At the way Light's faked relief seemed to falter, Ryuuzaki noted that he had won this little battle. It humored him so, his and Light's little tiffs; quite unexpected and welcomed in the tedious day. L would never tell a soul about it, but lately his work had become tedious. That, and the fact that his only suspects seemed so _innocent_, even amidst the blatant facts that wracked the great detective's brain—L just needed some mental stimulation.

And it elated him so when Light and he began to have these battles of wit. It provided him with means of a game of mental strategy; snarky comments hidden beneath tones, so beautifully acted out that it could fool an entire room of detectives. The current score, to L's immense pleasure, was tipping in his favor.

Yes, he was happy about that; if anything.

"Come," he pulled the metal chain, the harmonious clanks the only sound in the room. He slowly began to walk away, dragging the reluctant suspect behind him. "we're going to scout the news."

A groan behind him only made the ghost of a smirk on his face a little more prominent. "But, _Ryuuzaki_, there's no point in it. I mean, for god's sake, Sakura TV and all of those other stations are starting to annoy me."

"_Everything_ annoys you, Light-kun," the detective pointed out in a deadpan, curling up on another chair in the adjacent room and plucking the remote between his index finger and thumb. "And, besides, we're going to check international news, because it's not like Kira only kills people in Japan." The tone of his voice made Light growl, the smug bastard chastising him as if he were a small child. Of all the nerve..

Throwing himself into the chair beside his companion, Lights arms had again found his way across his chest. He cracked his neck as his left leg folded atop the left; readying himself for the hours of channel-surfing that ensued.

Ryuuzaki pressed a button on the remote control, and ten screens flashed to life simultaneously. Light could hear different languages all around him; his head pounding slightly as he fought to remember the languages he had studied over the years.

He chose to ignore all of the channels that were not speaking in English—the language he was most confident in with his translating skills. He allowed the French, German, Polish, and Russian broadcasts to be handled by the man beside him; it was safe to assume that the creepy genius would be able to listen to several languages at once.

Shaking his head and ignoring the thoughts of a seven-headed L that wanted to come forth, he focused on one television with feigned interest. It was an American channel, he presumed; noting the accent in which the news lady spoke. '_Los Angeles news at nine, how original_'

She spoke adamantly, her pearly whites glaring against her red lipstick. Her eyes shined with practiced enthusiasm, and she paused for a moment to glance down at her papers.

"—_earlier today, at around three this morning, there's been a reported escape of a prisoner at a mental institution for criminally insane. This man, whose name is said to be Beyond Birthday, is said to be highly dangerous. Families are encouraged to exercise caution until this man is found. As of now, no picture is available. But, he is described as a pale—"_

Light rolled his eyes, not caring in the least about the man the blond woman was warning her town against. Deciding it alright to move on, he honed in on a British newscast, before he noticed out of the corner of his eye the detective; staring at the news channel Light had previously been watching. Light noted, with slight interest, that the broadcast had managed to capture all of the man's attention. He also noticed the small bead of sweat that slowly made its way down the detective's cheek.

"Ryuuzaki," Light shook the man, who flinched out of the boy's grasp. L shook his head and blinked, before turning his gaze toward Light; bland look again on his face.

"Yes?"

"You.. Nevermind."

"You are a weird one, Light-kun." Ryuuzaki sighed and turned away, his attention toward a Spanish broadcast as Light began to splutter about.

"You're one to call someone else odd, you know." Light sighed, dropping the conversation. Though, he shook his head, he couldn't help but ponder over the broadcast that had caused the spindly detective to seemingly blank out.

'_Probably nothing. Knowing Ryuuzaki, this is another game._' Light snorted to himself, that was it. It was all just a game to Ryuuzaki, and Light had already caught on.

The detective was not going to win this round easily.

* * *

"Wh-Who are you?" And elderly woman croaked from her position on the floor. She stared up at the figure before her in unabashed horror, weeping at the sadistic gleam in her attacker's eye.

"That is of no importance at the moment, ma'am." He stepped around her and began to close the blinds; effectively blocking out any and all unwanted sunlight. The sun had always irritated his eyes, ever since he could remember, so it was safe to assume that was the cause for his pallid manner. "But, I need to know: Are you Ursula Aggenthorp, born on June seventh, nineteen-thirteen?" He turned to gaze at his victim in an almost childish look.

"Y-Yes, bu-but how do you know who-o I am?" She slowly began to crawl away from the imposing, extremely intimidating figure; but was stopped as a bare foot stomped down on her left hand. She let out a soft mewl of pain as she moved her rheumatoid-infected hands away from the man.

"I _see_ all, Ursula." The twisted look came back, and suddenly a sharp object was soon waving about in his hand. "I know more about you than you believe I do." He brandished the weapon with a smirk, and noted the way the elderly woman trembled.

"What's the matter?" He pouted, a childish façade on his features. A childish demeanor radiated from his being, and he got on all fours and crawled toward the lady. "You don't wanna play anymore, miss?"

Before she could respond, her throat was met with a knife and cut with enough efficiency to only silence the woman, not kill her off. The attacker smiled as the woman's eyes bulged out of her head, and her attempts to scream only came out as gargled chokes.

"Such a silly look, ma'am." He giggled and crawled atop the woman, resting on her plastic hip. He wiped his knife on his pant leg and looked at her still-bulging eyes; pouting at the ogling he was receiving. "You know," he hissed, "if you do not know how to stare with respect, than you don't deserve to see."

Suddenly, a blade squeezed underneath the woman's right eye, ejecting it out of it's socket with a suckling, popping noise. He repeated the action with the other eye, before slicing the nerves that connected the appendages to her body.

"Now, now, isn't that better? No more nasty looks, ma'am." Another round of giggles., and he waved the dangling objecting in his hands before juggling them. "Though, honestly, you can't say that you don't enjoy the dark. I know I do." He thumped his chest with pride. "C'mon.. answer me. Oh!" Another round of sickening guffaws as he thumped his forehead gently. "You can't even speak, can you? Silly B."

He continued to speak to the silenced woman, chattering aimlessly as he watched her lifespan dwindle before his eyes. Then, as the last few moments of her life donned before him, he began to hack away at one of her wrists. "Such a tedious task, Ms. Aggenthorp. You have too much meat on you, you know? Your skin's all dangly, as well. But, I guess that's what I get for choosing you, isn't it?"

He made a triumphant noise when he heard the sound of bone being sawed. He began to hum along to the rhythmic sounds of the act, before whooping as he finished his job, ripping the remaining flesh away as he stood.

"Almost done, here." Smearing blood on his forehead as he wiped sweat from his brow, he began to move her fingers around to form a letter in sign language. When he finished, he placed it precariously in the middle of a coffee table as though it were an important artifact.

Then came the boring part, he groaned. He pulled on a pair of gloves as he ran to the kitchen and took a sponge. It's not any fun playing a game if there's evidence around to incriminate him.

Thus, with that in mind, Beyond Birthday began the arduous task of cleaning the entire household; humming slightly as he thought about the man he was doing it for.

* * *

**A/N: **OH, B! You silly goose, that's not a game. It's murder! He's a joker, isn't he, folks? So disturbing, huh? I apologize if I scared someone off. And I know Beyond is presumed dead, but too bad. I want him living, because he's awesome.

Leave some words of encouragement, or hell, just tell me I'm a freak! I'm here to hear what you think of it. Please, do not be afraid.

Leave a review, loves.


	2. London Bridge Is

**A/N:** Heh, alright. Thanks for the positive feedback, you guys. It's nice to have some encouragement. You know what's cool? I like the new "Reader Traffic" thing-a-mabob. It shows hits and visitors and the countries they're from—so cool to see readers from around the world.

Though, major props to **aisling13** for helping me out a bit. It's nice to know about the book itself, and the murders within it. Also, it's good to know about how he had appeared within the book as he impersonated L. You've been a great help. :)

In this chapter, obviously, more gore. Oh, and Beyond's thinking, because he's Beyond and I'm going to attempt to delve into the psyche of a madman. Oh, and a tad bit of a timeskip.

**Disclaimer:** It ain't mine; Ohba/Obata got to it first.

* * *

"That'll be five-fifty, sir," said a rather bored-looking teenager, as he held his hand out expectantly to the buyer; whose red-tinged eyes only glared back. At first, the figure made no movement, to the cashiers extreme annoyance; mumbling under his breath about the creeps that come out at night. "Sir, please—"

"Right," the man before him smiled, reaching into his pocket and extracting a ten-dollar bill. He held it as it were a diseased object, and almost threw it at the teen's face. The boy only grunted and opened the register. As he did so, a scowl found its way onto the man's face.

Such disrespect was unbefitting for someone such as himself, Beyond thought, snatching the bag and his change quickly and stalking away. That boy, Mitchell Markson, had a Death wish, he thought, a tiny mewl of pleasure escaping his lips as he exited the convenience store. '_Two days left to live, Mitch.'_

With that fact stored to memory, Beyond milled around the area for a bit, before perching himself atop a park bench. He fiddled in his bag for a moment, before pulling out a jar of strawberry jam.

His eyes lit up as he made haste to unscrew the lid, and his fingers began to twitch in anticipation. He'd gotten lucky when he did off Barnaby Botchinson the night before; for the man himself had been loaded with at least two-hundred dollars on his person. But, no matter..

A rather contented sigh rumbled in his throat, as his fingers found their way into the confection. He twirled his fingers in the gooey red substance for a good while, looking for the world like a man who had won the lottery, before scooping a handful into his mouth. He chewed and slurped lethargically, his eyes fluttering closed as a grin materialized. His lips popped as he finished, and thin fingers disappeared into his mouth as he sucked each digit in a meticulous fashion.

Yes, B nodded as he dug his hand into the jam, this was better than the normal human's blood. In fact, this was too good to not be a sin. A moan bubbled forth as his tongue flirted with his coated fingers. He drew together that this was just as good as sex. If anything, maybe slightly better.

A heavenly image wormed it's way into his head, and he bit at his thumb; anticipation was coursing throughout his body as he stood up in haste.

"Oh, my little Lawli, I cannot wait much longer." His gaze directed toward the starless sky, and he slowly blinked; a dangerous smile appearing on his pale lips. He stalked off toward an ambiguous location, the bag hanging off of his wrist as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. A vision of a jelly-coated, bloody L prone before him danced within his head, and his thumb found its way to his lips.

"No, this cannot wait much longer.."

* * *

A sudden chill had found its way through L's body, and he squirmed to rid himself of the odd feeling that had manifested itself within him. A feeling of dread welled within his chest, but he cast it off as something that pertained to the case before him- he was, after all, examining the deaths that had occurred the previous night before.

"Thirteen Kira-related deaths were reported last night, Ryuuzaki." Mogi handed the documents to the detective, who gave a slight nod of approval. His large eyes scanned over the documents, before he placed them beside his treat—a tower of cookies. He took the topmost confectionary and bit into it, taking slow, deliberate bites. He swallowed and turned to the man.

"Thank you Mogi, but I would like you to scour the papers again, and make sure that that no other deaths are suspicious enough to pertain to the case." As he spoke, he licked a bit of chocolate off of the tip of his index finger. As he did so, he noticed that the teen beside him seemed to be staring in his general direction.

He turned his gaze to Light, whose eyes had glazed over slightly. It seemed that the boy was in deep contemplation of something, but L decided it best if he broke the teen's musing. He waved a pale, bony hand in front of his victim's face, almost smiling as Light jumped at the action.

Honey brown eyes met his and L tilted his head with a look of pure naïveté etched onto his porcelain face. "Yes, Ryuuzaki?"

"Well," he chewed on his thumb carefully as he spoke, wide eyes unblinking, "you were staring at me. I was just wondering if you wanted one of my cookies." At that, his thumb left its place at his mouth as he used the hand to wave at his treats.

Light gave a soft smile and shook his head. "No, no; thank you. I don't want any."

"Good," the man mumbled, as he turned back to his work. Light sighed at the man's antics and redirected his gaze to the ceiling. The day was turning out to be tedious, just as all of the other days had been.

That was until a large "W" in the Old English five popped up before the detective's screen. Even Ryuuzaki seemed unprepared for that, as he had a look of pure bewilderment crossed his features. "Yes, Watari?"

"Ryuuzaki, the head of the FBI is on line one," the elderly man spoke, his soft voice blaring through the speakers. All eyes that were pretending to look busy suddenly bore into the back of the detective's head, though the man seemed oblivious to the attention.

"Alright, thank you." He released a button on the computer and swiveled in the direction of the phone. In a manner most apprehensive, he pressed the button for the desired line and held the receiver precariously to his ear.

Soon enough, to the bemusement of the task force, he began to speak in rapid and hushed English. Even Light, who had prided himself in mastering said language, had a hard time following the speed in which the detective was talking. He did know, however, that whatever was being discussed was obviously something that did not please the man—for his tone of voice had risen sharply, and he sounded rather cross.

"So it's perfectly fine to call me a _week_ after this began? Honestly.." The detective went silent again as the man on the other line began to speak, his the pad of his thumb being abused by his teeth. "Yes, yes. I can understand the circumstance, but that is another thing. This man needs to be—" more chatter, and Light sighed in relief as he cold now follow the conversation. "If you are already aware of that fact, then you would have known to contact me sooner. You've made a horrific error in judgment."

The conversation rattled on as L continued to chastise the head of the Federal Bureau of Investigation as if the man were a child caught in a cookie jar. Until, finally, L nodded. "Okay. I'm on it. Yes, thank you. You too." He dropped the receiver on the hook quickly, and made no other movements for several minutes.

Until, turning around, he quietly shuffled back to his seat and resumed his position; and, taking a cookie and shoving the entire treat in his mouth in a huff, he went back to scanning the document he had been studying beforehand.

"Uh, Ryuuzaki," Matsuda suddenly squeaked, standing up in a sheepish position. "if you don't mind me asking, what just happened? I mean, you seemed pretty angry and, uh, well.." He grew silent as the team's gazes once again focused on the spindly detective.

L sighed, and turned in his chair to face the rest of the room. "A man I had captured in one of my previous cases escaped from prison last week." As soon as the man made a statement, Light thought back to the day when he and Ryuuzaki had seen that one broadcast. Feeling a little more confident on the topic, he listened as the man drawled on.

"The head of the FBI has just told me that they presume the new string of murders is connected to the escaped convict. They have just asked my assistance in capturing him, yet again." He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, looking more wary than ever before.

"I don't get it." Light crossed his arm in habit and leaned back into his chair. "If they know who's committing the murders, then why don't they just apprehend him?" There was a chorus of grumbles as they acknowledged the question.

"Light-kun," again, the tired tone of his voice almost made Light take back his question. "there's a reason why I took up the case the last time." He took the time to glance at the teen's father as he spoke. "Yagami-san, I take it that you know something of the Los Angeles BB Murder Case?"

The man nodded slowly, before his eyes widened somewhat at the realization. "Are you saying that the same person responsible is the one on the loose?" When the detective nodded, Soichiro took a deep breath. "No wonder.."

"I don't get it." Aizawa seemed to have found his voice, and crossed his arms. "Why is that so bad? I mean, if you caught him once, then—"

"The only reason he was captured was by a fluke in and of itself," Ryuuzaki snapped in a cold tone. His hair hid his eyes from the room as he continued. "The man in question committed every murder with deliberate and extreme randomness, and never left behind any evidence to incriminate his self. He was able to leave behind a false trail of clues that threw off the FBI and me, though; making, in what it seemed, the perfect murder case. The only reason he was caught was because he had tried to kill himself, to make it look as though he were the last victim."

Light nodded, remembering the conversations he and his father had had when the murders had occurred. He thought back to when his father chattered on about the way the murders were handed out, how each of the three victims were completely at random. "So," he spoke slowly, thinking out his words, "what you're saying is you think that this man is impossible to catch?"

Ryuuzaki's head slowly turned in Light's direction, and he gave a deceiving smile. "I do not _think_ so, Light-kun. Assumptions are ridiculous. I am saying that I am eight-seven percent sure that he is not going to be caught. But, sadly, I have to try. After all, he _is_ killing in order to capture my attention."

There were a small string of gasps as the man ended his tiny speech. Even Light seemed taken back at the assessment. But, obvious to his nature, he was skeptical of the response. "How do you know he is doing this for you?"

"That," he turned back to his computer, touching the mouse to awaken his sleeping computer, "is classified information." Another cookie found its way into the detective's mouth, and he began to chew.

"Now, back to work."

* * *

The birds, it seemed, were too oblivious to the world for their own good. There, outside the windows of the apartment complex, they sang in melodious harmony for the rising sun. They did not know of the task at hand right before their very eyes—if they had, there would be no joyous music at the moment.

"Blackbirds singin' in the dead of night," a low voice sang, his head bobbing as he fought to remember the song he'd heard so long ago. He stood over a prone, unconscious body. "Oh, Mitch, you seemed to have fallen asleep."

He gave a quiet sigh and perched himself beside the teenager's limp form, studying the calm features of the unconscious boy. Mitch was a lot easier on the eyes when he wasn't making those hideous faces, B concluded.

He reached out and rested a hand on one of the teen's cheeks; feeling all of the acne scars that jarred the boy's skin. Idly, and with a bit of interest (B could not recall ever having acne) he began to pop the zits before him; the act seeming to amuse him a great deal.

Soon enough, though, he ran out—and the teen also seemed to be returning to the realm of consciousness. "Fiddlesticks." B pouted and stood, dusting off his bottom.

"Time to say good bye!" He smiled at the form, before leaping into the air and landing spot-on the teen's head; a sickening crack following the action. The human brain, Beyond noted, bore a similar texture to spaghetti.

He wiggled his toes, the particles of matter tickling him as he did so. But, however, he'd made a big mess. Frowning, he went about cleaning around the crime scene, before moving to the bathroom and cleansing himself.

As soon as he finished, he finished his mess and crept out of the building. It made it easier that there was not one camera about, for it made his escape all the more easier.

Wandering back to the park he had grown oh-so fond of, he reached under _his_ bench before settling himself in his odd manner—jar of jelly in hand.

"I do say this is a fine reward to a lovely evening, don't you?" Of course, he was speaking to the air as he scooped out another handful of jam. And, shoveling the mixture into his mouth in a manner most sickening, he curled up with a content noise.

So far, so good, he speculated. He also knew that his plan had so far gone to fruition: The FBI had already contacted L. Not as quick as he had hoped, but they still managed to get the deed done. Now, all that was left was getting _his_ detective out of Japan. That was where the problem lie—he needed to either force the man back to the US, or be forced to send himself to Japan; the latter of the two seeming more and more right by the day.

No, Beyond huffed, he knew he had to get out of LA; it was just a matter of him not wanting to. He had grown so familiar with the area, seeing as he stalked about it daily searching for his newest pet—his pets which were so, _so_ fun to play with. But, his detective was smarter than that: Lawliet knew better than to wander off into the enemy's territory.

Then again, Beyond chuckled, he _had_ run off to Japan to search for this "Kira" everyone speaks of. _Kira_ seemed to be taking its toll on the detective, B noted with a scowl. That was bad, because Kira should know better than to tarnish the things that do not belong to them.

The very thought of the killer in Japan made Beyond's blood boil. That _thing_ was the reason he was stuck in this predicament. He knew full well that L would've at least _come_ to America—not necessarily Los Angeles (more like New York), but at least he'd be within range. But no, his prey was prancing around Japan playing tag with the newest enemy.

But there was one thing Beyond had that Kira didn't, and that was Lawliet's fear. Even though the pale detective would never admit it, B knew that whenever the detective looked in a mirror—or came across a jar of jam—his body would freeze up, if only momentarily. Yes, B laughed to himself, _he_ had earned that control over the man. It was _Beyond Birthday_ who owned the detective, not some cowardly figure who had not the courage to show his mug.

With that in mind, B found it much easier to drift into a calming sleep. As he dreamt, though, his subconscious was plotting away to its own pleasure. And, before he knew it, he had awakened with a new plan in mind.

"Of course," he murmured to himself, lightly tapping his forehead, "it's all _so_ simple, really."

It seemed that he had all-but forgotten of his dual-citizenship—which made it all the more easy to move one step closer to his prize. He began to hum as tune as he shuffled off, idea rich in mind.

"London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down..  
London bridge is falling down, _my fair lady_."

* * *

**A/N:** Again, with the semi-short chapter. But, sadly, I feel as though it needs to be ended here. I mean, the next chapter (hopefully) will be much, much longer.

BUT WHATEVER! Oh noes! The plot thickens! What's Beyond talking about, what is he gonna do?! That is for me to know, and you to find out! STAY TUNED!

Oh, and leave me a kind (or rude) review. I like to know who reads this.


	3. Burn, Baby, Burn

**A/N:** I got a job! Hehe. So, I might be a tad bit busy from now on, but I'm still going to write this like a fiend. Because, just so you know, this story is addicting to write.

Thanks to all who've reviewed/fav'd/alerted. It means a lot to me.

**Disclaimer: **Ah, no. I highly doubt that I own anything, besides my laptop.

* * *

Light's eyes closed as he let out a rather content sigh. He knew it was wrong to feel pleased over such circumstances, but he felt as though he had to. After two months of reading and re-reading and examining each death continuously- it was a nice break to now have a solid lead.

Five minutes had passed since he had pointed out to the lanky detective (who, he had noticed, had been sulking in his chair) several questionable deaths that seemed to benefit a certain company.

Looking around, he noticed that life had filled the room that had been so dead just moments ago. Ryuuzaki was dishing out orders left-and-right, while Mogi and Light's father obeyed and completed the tasks at hand.

Matsuda, of course, was getting the coffee.

"Here you go, Ryuuzaki-san!" He placed the steaming mug in front of the detective, along with the detective's infamous jar of sugar.

"Thank you, Matsuda."

"No problem!" The man scratched the back of his head, and stood about in an awkward air, before skittering off beside Mogi.

Light suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the man who could only be as useful as an ingrown hair at any given time. How he had become a detective, Light would never know.

Beside him, though, another male was dealing with a slightly more important annoyance. L knew that he was supposed to be catching the lead on the Yotsuba Company, but he had already deduced that they would pull out nothing—making the effort nothing but a waste of time. Besides, he'd already e-mail and contacted the necessary tools to move forward.

So he decided to check in on an old friend: Beyond. The mere thought of the man caused the dull-eyed detective to bit through the skin of his thumb. It had been nearly a month since the elusive murder had struck.

This, in and of itself, was enough to propel the detective into a deep state of paranoia. Beyond was surely plotting: figuring out a means to get to L himself. That didn't frighten the detective in the least—every villain he'd captured had attempted to get to him.

No, L was frightened due to one lone fact:

He _knew_ Beyond Birthday could get him.

* * *

Beyond almost moaned with relief when the scenery became much more familiar to him.

Of course he would remember this place: it was where he spent a majority of his childhood. It was the place that had molded and morphed him into what he was today. And, on a smaller, more obscure note: it was the place of his first ever murder.

He was in Winchester, England.

The cab rolled to a stop before a small café, before the cabbie turned to the man and held out an expected hand. Beyond held back a scoff as he carelessly threw the correct change at the man—who thanked him with a scowl and sped off.

B breathed in the fresh, crisp air. Yes, he smiled, Winchester was a lot better than Los Angeles. Probably healthier, as well. He then shook his head: No, this place is unhealthy. This was the place that needed to be purged and cleansed, not bright and sunny L.A.

He didn't know whether or not to be disgusted or elated at his conclusion; so he decided on neither. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, and adjusting the bag on his back, he headed towards one sole destination.

With every step he took, anticipation bubbled within his gut. His entire body soon erupted in a fitful shake as his eyes rested on his target. Speed increasing slightly, he made the final stretch in a matter of moments.

He stood before the gates with a large smile—every tooth sparkling in the afternoon sun. Fingers itched with adrenaline as he made his way over the gates and onto the cement walkway below. Beads of sweat rolled down his ivory skin as he made his way toward the building, before veering off onto the lawn and making his way to a particular location.

Slowly—in an almost agonizing pace—he scanned the room before him. A blond child (_A girl? No, no, that's a boy) _was tossing rather vulgar remarks to an older-looking fellow; a rather irked look marred his face as his voice rose in decibels.

"Roger, I swear to _God_ that-" His voice died, though, as he noticed a figure climbing into the window behind the old man. "Uh.. Roger?"

In a rather exasperated tone, Roger indulged in the question. "Yes, Mello?"

"There's someone coming in through the-" Again, the boy's sentence died, but only to be replaced with a girly squeal. "L?! Holy shit, is that you?!" the boy's cerulean eyes lit up with pure adoration, and a large grin replaced his scowling features.

Roger, though, was only perplexed by the boy's outburst. Surely, if L were here, he would not be climbing though a window (or so he hoped). "Mello.." He swiveled in his chair to the suspected window, before killing his question completely when he looked into blood-colored irises.

The man took a deep gasp, and turned to the blond present in the room. "Mello, leave." The man's voice took a rather authoritative tone, so the rebellious child gave a curt nod and padded out of the room in a haste.

"Oh, Roger," B laughed, patting the elder's head. "you didn't have to go and do that. I say, you rather creeped the poor boy out."

"Quiet, B." The man's voice was trembling, B noted. It delighted him how he could make so many quiver before him. An unbecoming smirk graced his features.

"Roger that."

"What do you want?"

Beyond chuckled, before feigning a rather affronted look. "Must you be so blunt, Roger? What if I just wanted to take a trip through memory lane."

The man's eyes narrowed, knowing full well that the boy was lying. At that, B sighed. "Fine, fine. I was just looking for someone."

"He's not here," Roger said, waving a hand about. "Now, leave."

"Are you sure?" Beyond's head tilted to the right, and he brought his thumb to his lips. "I mean, I just want to see him."

"You _know_ he's not here, Backup."

B flinched at the nickname, his eyes darkening, before regaining the innocent front. "Oh, okay. I was just checking." He headed toward the window. "I'll see you, then." He waved at the man, before disappearing into the bushed. Roger rubbed at his brow, his entire body collapsing.

"That boy.." He closed his eyes as his head rested on the cherry wood desk below him. It was necessary t contact Watari at once, he realized, but he felt as though it would be wise to gather up his nerves.

Until, but two minutes later, shrieks and shouts rang throughout the orphanage.

Roger shot up from his desk, making a leap toward the door. As he swung it open, he was greeted by the stale stench of smoke. Something was burning.

He ran toward the main door, and indeed, the house was aflame. Black smoke was harsh against his lungs as he directed the fearful children toward the back exit. Luckily, he was able to usher a good lot of the children out before the door itself caught flame.

The rest of the occupants were ushered throughout the window, before Roger himself lunged out: panting and sweating as he collapsed on the grass.

That was, until, a rather uncharacteristically nervous Matt came rushing up to him—virtually sobbing.

* * *

L noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that his newest guests had just arrived. Lucky for him, though, was the fact that no one else in the room had. Though, whether or not that was a good thing, he had yet to decide.

He called them Aiber and Wedy, and they were the best he could get. An over-competent scam artist, and the world's most efficient thief is what they were. It was a test: to infiltrate the building without gaining suspicion. Of course, they had passed—Wedy bugging the alarms and re-routing the cameras as they snuck in. L wanted to smile.

Of course, it amused him to no end when the rest of the team finally _did_ notice the duo—in voices ranging from incredulity to utter bemusement.

Then again, he had already known that officers of the law were not going to automatically accept the idea of working with professional criminals, but that was a risk he was willing to take. What he did find amusing, though, were the expressions that one Soichiro Yagami wore throughout the entire ordeal. If only L had a camera..

Aiber and Wedy were being escorted by Watari to their private rooms; the latter chirping with joy over the idea of a clean, unused room. L couldn't help but roll his eyes at the woman.

He turned his chair in the other direction, only to be greeted with the face of Light Yagami. Said teenager looked rather cross at the detective, who only put it off as the teen being miffed at the idea of working with criminals.

And, he was, much to L's chagrin.

"You know, for a man who believes in justice, you seem to enjoy manipulating it to your own ideals." Light's arms crossed over his chest, and he raised a brow at Ryuuzaki.

Said man only graced him with his regular blank look. "Yagami-kun, I am only doing what is necessary. I mean, it is much easier to _catch_ a criminal if you _are_ a criminal."

"If that is what you believe." Light muttered, his facial expression not changing in the least. He was about to respond when he was disrupted by a rather emotional Watari.

"Ryuuzaki, if I could have a word," the man requested, and L could find no means of denying him the chance. He quickly removed himself from his perch; only to be pulled away rather roughly by the older man as he was dragged from the room.

Light watched the scene that played before him with a gaping mouth. He had never, _never_ seen Watari display such raw emotion before—it was quite unnerving.

The rest of the force seemed to notice the display, for they were all gaping at the door the two had disappeared behind. Muffled voices could be heard for several moments, before the metal object was swung open by none other than the world's three greatest detectives; Ryuuzaki sliding into the room with his hair shielding his eyes.

He shuffled over to his chair without a word, typing away at his computer with a dangerous force. No one dared to speak until the spindly man spoke first. And that did not happen for several minutes.

Until: "Everyone, I have an announcement." His voice was mechanical, not a hint of any human life retained in it. The people flinched, fearful somewhat, and gave the man their already undivided attention.

"Something has come up, so I am taking leave for a matter of days," he explained, still not turning to the team. "I am leaving Yagami-kun in charge while I am gone."

"So.. I'm not going with you?" Light held up his cuffed hand with a rather confused look. The detective shook his head.

"While I am gone, you are not allowed to leave the building. Each and every surveillance camera shall remain activated, and you shall be cuffed to Mogi-san." It was only then that he moved, turning his head in the direction of aforementioned man. "Is this all right, Mogi-san?"

Without a moment of hesitation, the man nodded in the affirmative. "Of course, Ryuuzaki-san."

"Good." The man stood up, his knees cracking with the motion. "I shall be gone for approximately one week. I have left a detailed list of things to be investigated while I am at leave, and it has been e-mailed to you all."

With that, the man marched out of the door.

* * *

Oh, this was good.

B wanted to laugh at the scene unfurling before him.

He had, to his amusement, managed to burn that blond boy from before. Said child was currently residing at the local hospital, nursing a third-degree burn on his face.

That, in itself, could make Beyond squeal in delight. He had managed to unintentionally lure his precious pet back to England—sure fire. He had been reluctant to burn down Wammy's House, because he did not know if that were enough to force the raven-haired detective out of hiding. But, as he passed by the injured boy's room once more, this was fool-proof.

His precious Lawliet would soon be his.

* * *

**A/N:** Whew, what a chapter, no? I'm feeling pretty alright with it, how about you?

Review, please, and tell me what you think.


	4. A Proposition

**A/N: **You're all amazing. You don't know how amazing it feels to come home from work to all of those positive reviews. Thank you all so, so much.

Seriously, though, I want to have your babies. Each an' every one o' you's. Let's get going, guys. I don't have much time to live, you know, with those nine month increments and such. Yeah.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned anything mentioned in this story, I wouldn't be shopping at the secondhand stores. Ohba/Obata own _Death Note_ and any and all references are purely coincidental.

* * *

Joseph Joubert had once said that "misery is almost always the result of thinking."

But, as day one of the L-less investigation continued, Light was beginning to think the opposite.

It had gone to shambles the moment Matsuda had stepped into the investigation room. Apparently, without the unnerving gaze of the detective, the feather-brained officer found it much easier to goof off and made a point of saying every single thing that crossed through his mind.

And, after taking about a half-hour to brew coffee, he finally managed to spill said steaming beverage on Mogi's lap, causing the man to spring up in surprise- inadvertently causing Light's face to meet the cool desk with bruising force. Soichiro, witnessing the crash before his eyes, rushed to his child's aide; but he only managed to forget about the coffee spill and and slipped on the small puddle. He then deemed it fit to land on his son.

Aizawa, on the other hand, had considered it healthy to avoid the situation altogether: he pranced into the kitchen as soon as he saw the mug slip from Matsuda's grasp. Since then, he had made it top priority to munch on one of L's cakes.

Matsuda stared down at the scene before him with watering eyes; lower lip trembling as he began to mull over the repercussions of his actions. "Oh, man, guys.. I-I'm so sorry!"

There was a collective sigh within the trio on the floor. "_Matsuda_."

The man looked almost suicidal, Light noted, as he sat back onto his chair. He nursed his already-bruising face, and put on an amiable mask. "Alright, it's okay. It's just a mistake, Matsuda. Why don't you take a break? We'll be okay."

Looking positively miserable, Matsuda shuffled out of the room, just as Aizawa re-entered.

"What happened?" The man who adorned an afro put on a confused façade, wiping excess cake from his lip. The rest of the team just groaned and ignored the man.

"Alright, everyone, back to work."

* * *

L bit on his thumb as he neared closer toward his destination. Trepidation toward the impending confrontation ran through his system, causing him to tear through the flesh that protected the blood vessels within his thumb.

Startled by the sudden metallic taste on his tongue, he made haste to remove the offending appendage from his mouth. He opted instead to stare at the back of Watari's head.

Three minutes and twenty-six second later, the detective counted, they arrived before the large building commonly referred to as a hospital. He slipped out of the car in haste and took to the main entrance, keeping a perfect three steps behind Watari as he did so.

It took but a brief moment to locate the exact room in which the blond-haired protégé was residing in, and it only helped that music and screaming from said room could be heard from down the hall.

L stood before the sealed door, listening intently as Dschinghis Khan's "Moskau" filtered through the cracks of the door. It was blending in with the screams of Mello as he restated that "for the millionth time" the song was giving him a "damn headache, you fucking prick;" and that Matt should invest in un-looping the song.

"No, I think I quite like the song."

L smiled to himself before throwing open the door and making his grand entrance: slouched over like he was giving a piggy back to a non-existent obese child and shuffling his bare feet against the sterile floors of the hospital.

"Hello, Mello."

Mello, who had given the door his full attention after it had been so violently pushed against, let out a delighted squeal at the sight of his mentor. "L!"

Offering a pleasant wave to the other occupant of the room, which received and even more enthusiastic reply from Matt, he sauntered over to Mello's bedside—flinching only _slightly_ when the blond latched his arms around his waist. He composed himself of his initial surprised and patted the boy on his currently hair-less head.

"I can't believe you visited me!"

At that, L cocked his head to the right. "Now, why wouldn't I visit you, Mello? You were injured, and not putting my charges' safety first is quite despicable."

"Yeah, well," Mello blushed with embarrassment and turned a burning glare in Matt's direction (who, L noted with amusement, had finally ended the incessant replay of the German song). "You owe me fifty pounds, dick."

"Language," came the half-hearted chastise from L, and he gave Mello's skull a gentle whack. "You know how much I abhor cursing."

"..Sorry." Mello looked up at him with a large, child-like gaze: a move, L noted, well-stolen from his book. And, he frowned; it seemed that L was not immune to his own dirty tactics.

"It's quite all right."

Matt snickered. "Mello, you're such a girl!" He turned off his _PSP_ and crossed his arms; he had finally, after long while, found the real world more entertaining (even more so when Mello gave a flustered squawk at the accusation).

L allowed a rare, sincere smile to grace his pallid features. It would be a blatant lie to say he did not miss the boys, for they were like brothers to him. He watched in silence—or, to be correct, was _forced_ to watch: seeing as Mello had yet to release him from his grasp—as the two boys altercated between each other.

But, alas, all good things must end.

"Excuse me," L's clear voice, lightly graced with a British accent, cut into the air. "Where's Near and Roger?"

Indeed, the two figures were vacant from the room. L frowned, had the two left Matt and Mello to their own demise? He brought his thumb to his lips, and searched in vain around the room.

Mello let his hands drop to his sides to give the man more flexibility. "Roger and Near went to the Cafeteria, like, an hour ago." The boy crossed his arms, and rolled his eyes. "Which means that the bitch wanted a new robot, or something, and Roger indulged. Which _also_ means that I won't be getting that _damn_ chocolate bar I asked for." The teen was seething with anger, before L came to the rescue.

"Oh!" He reached into his back pocket, and presented the lad with a large bar of Belgian chocolate. "Thanks for reminding me."

Mello's eyes immediately zoomed in on the milky substance, before looking up at L in pure adoration. L then deduced that, if it were possible, the blond-haired boy had built an even higher respect for the detective.

"Thank you! Thank you so, _so_ much!" Mello tore open the wrappings in haste, before biting off a huge chunk of the sweet and allowing it to melt in his mouth. As he did so, L's blank gaze turned to Matt.

"Now, Matt, I've deduced that, since you had no means of predicting that there was to be a fire at Wammy's, you are currently without most of those video games you play." When the boy nodded, L continued.

"So, I also concluded that you had that," he pointed to the _PSP_ perched precariously in the teen's lap. "on your person, as you always do. So—and please remind me later of this—I went out on a whim and bought you a few games to play."

Matt, being the much more down-to-earthed kind of boy, offered the detective a gracious smile. "You're the greatest, L. Seriously, dude. I mean it!"

The only response the detective gave was a shrug, before he turned his attention to the ceiling. "Since we're on topic, neither of you boy _had_ anything to do with the start of this fire, right?" He redirected his gaze toward the two, but for the most part he kept it on Mello, who merely shook his head in the negative.

"No, sir." He chewed thoughtfully for a moment on his chocolate, before swallowing, and continued when he remembered something. "Though, I do remember some weird stuff happening right before it, though."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hm." Mello nodded, feeling more enthusiastic about his findings as all of the attention was again directed towards him. "So I was in Roger's office, relaying to him important information pertaining to Near, when all of a sudden I caught out of my peripheral: some guy climbing through Roger's window. At first I thought I was on a sugar high, but quickly tossed the notion from my mind. There was an actual _homo sapien_ climbing through the window!

"So, of course, I stared at the man. And, L, I swear to God," he held up his rosary as if to prove the fact, "he looked like a spitting image of you! Even his _clothes_ matched you. The only flaw I could see were some scarring here and there, and the fact that he had these.. red eyes." Mello crossed his arms, going back to his thoughts. He did not seem to catch the slight rigor mortis that the detective was then experiencing, but it did not go unnoticed to Matt- who raised a perplexed brow at the man.

"And, then," Mello began again, "I was _elated_ to see 'you,' or the person that looked like you, and I yelled out your name. The old geezer just looked at me like I was a loony, before looking for his self. It was then, and only then, that I've ever seen Roger look so, so _petrified_. It was like his granny had risen from the dead, the way he was staring at the man.

"But, before I could even grasp the situation, Roger ordered me out. And, I don't know why, but I was quick to oblige. And that's all I remember."

There was a pregnant pause before L spoke, his voice then becoming quick and robotic—the detective, as Matt loved to call it, going into "L-mode."

"That is all you remember, Miheal?" Mello almost flinched at the mentioning of his actual name. It was then he knew he was going to be interrogated.

"Yes. I couldn't hear what they were talking about after I left the room, but I heard 'Beyond' quite a few times. Why?" He turned his cerulean gaze toward the man he admired, but all he saw was a blank gaze: L was making conclusions left and right.

It was something the boys admired about L. It astonished them how L could think up over a dozen situations and conclusions in mere seconds, and could just as quickly select the ideal situation and the most logical outcome.

"I see."

Mello nodded. "Maybe you should ask Roger about it when he returns."

"I shall." L located the nearest chair and perched himself atop it. And, as if sensing the waves of anxiousness that rolled off of the two boys, he gave them a friendly wave. "Now, boys, tell me what you two've been up to."

Matt let out a relieved sigh, before beginning his tale of his days at the Wammy's house. Mello followed short after, and they continued at it for a good while. They inquired as to what L had been up to (besides the Kira case) and the man told them of his adventures at To-Oh University and the likes. At an amiable pace, they conversed for a good twenty minutes.

All the while, though, L's mind was reeling. There was no doubt about it: Beyond had begun the fire. Which meant that Beyond was in Winchester; which also meant that he had been anticipating L's arrival. That, in itself, was dangerous.

As he made his conclusions, and made the proper percentages as he went along, the door was opening behind them. In came a pale-skinned boy with even paler hair, and an aging man carrying a white plastic bag.

"Near, Roger." L greeted, not taking the effort to look behind him.

Near gave a small, almost-timid in its manner, smile. He then took residence in the seat next to L's. Roger just fidgeted. "Hello, L."

Watari, who had left wordlessly but moments ago, had returned to the room bearing Devil's Food cake. He placed it in front of L before standing beside Roger. L nodded in thanks before carefully spearing a piece off for himself.

"So, Roger," L spoke, swallowing his cake-ful as he did so. "I need to speak with you in a moment."

"I understand, L."

"That is nice to know."

L put yet another precision-sliced piece of cake in his mouth, before turning his gaze on Near. "Hello, Near. How're you?"

"I'm well, really." The boy twirled a lock of hair around his index finger and rested his chin on his knees. "Aside from everything being burnt in the fire, I cannot complain."

"That is good," L remarked, finishing his cake with the statement. As he did so, he rose from his chair and fixed Roger with a look. "Come, Roger, we must talk."

* * *

Beyond rubbed his hands together in a vain attempt to warm his self, for it was well beyond midnight and the air had become a noticeable degree cooler. From his perch on a bench but several yards from the hospital doors, he was able to have a clear view of every exit; all the while, he had the luck of remaining obscure from view.

It had been six hours, thirteen minutes, and eleven seconds since he had seen the sleek Rolls Royce pull up in the hospital parking lot, and thirty-two seconds later had he caught a glimpse of his toy.

Yes, he smirked; his Lawliet had fallen prey to his plan. It scared him how easily he had fallen into the detective's mindset- it seemed so natural for him to do so. If it weren't for that ability, Beyond feared he would not be where he was today.

So deep was his in his thought, that it took him a moment to realize that the man who had invaded his thoughts was outside.

Lawliet had, clinched between his thumb and index finger, a cellular phone. He was speaking in another language, also; B noted. Beside him was a red-haired teenager smoking a cigarette and watching the detective with mild interest.

But the other boy did not matter, B remembered. He returned his undivided attention back to the detective, who suddenly looked highly displeased. He could hear, even from his position, the name '_Matsuda'_ and several Japanese vagrancies being thrown around quite a bit. Obviously, this "Matsuda" had done something that L did not agree with.

He watched as the raven-haired man massaged the bridge of his nose—an act he performed only when something unexpected happened—before dishing out several commands in Japanese. B had only then wished he were closer, so as to decipher what the man was talking about.

The phone closed shut shortly after, and he saw the detective hide the device in his back pocket. He turned to the red-haired teenager with an exasperated look, and made a comment that was humorous enough to make the teen chuckle.

Shortly after, the boy tossed his cigarette in the bin and followed the redhead in. B smiled, now was his chance.

Knowing that L, not being one to handle pressure all too well, would most likely send Watari out to get treats, he made haste in breaking into the back seat of the elder man's vehicle. Then, he just waited patiently.

And, soon after, his patience was met with a reward, as Quillsh Wammy clambered into his vehicle but five minutes later. As he kicked on his ignition and pulled out of the car, Beyond took this to be the opportune moment.

Pulling his precious knife from a pocket, he slid up into the backseat behind the aging man. Watari noticed the movement from his vision, and, judging from the look of fear in his eyes, had noticed just _who_ he was sharing a ride to the bakery in.

"Hello, Watari," Beyond murmured in a smooth, deceivingly relaxing tone. He held the blade to Watari's throat. "You will keep driving the car straight to the bakery. You will not, however, try any funny business. I know you keep a loaded pistol in a secret compartment underneath your seat. At the nearest stop, you shall unload your weapon and toss the holster out of your window. Any suspicious movements and I have no qualms in slitting your throat. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good," B gave the man a saccharine smile. He leaned in closer.

"Now, then, I'd like to make you a proposal.."

* * *

**A/N:** I know! What the fuck is my problem?! I don't know!

I got rid of all of Mello's pretty hair! But it was for a reason! If your face caught fire, wouldn't your hair? Don't worry, though—it'll grow back plenty fast. :D

My birthday's tomorrow! Here's my present to you all!

Review, please?


	5. Obladi, Oblada

**A/N:** Oh my, thank you all. You've all been spoiling me with your kind reviews. I don't know what to say, you're making me blush.

Oh, and in other news: I got an acoustic guitar. It was a lot of money (One-hundred and fifty) but it's beautiful. It's an Alvarez.

**Disclaimer:** Let me be straight-forward: If _Death Note_ were mine, L would be in leather, not baggy clothing. He wouldn't be dead, either. Ohma/Obata own that franchise. Lucky dudes.

* * *

"..So, I'm dead serious as I say this, but _Mello_ was wearing a freaking bra! I am not kidding, L; don't give me that face—" Matt ranted on with raucous laughter as L and Near both turned to stare at Mello. The blond teen was beet red in the face, his hands curling inward in reflex.

"Matt, I was _eight_. And everyone was calling me a girl! I was confused, you know."

"_Sure."_ Matt winked, his lips curling in a rather devious smirk. "That's what they all say, Mel."

As Mello let out a rather animalistic snarl, L couldn't help but smile again at the atmosphere. It was impossible to recall the last time he had ever felt this relaxed. He seemed to be enjoying his stay in England, despite himself. The oddest part was, he did not, for once, feel guilty over leaving the investigation back in Japan.

It was his first semi-"vacation."

Of course, he was doing what he had intentionally come to England for: he visited his charges and visited the crime scene. All that was left was the matter of picking out a suitable management in which the children could take asylum to.

L chewed on the pad of his thumb with a severe fervor. So deep had he gone into thought, that he had managed to go off on a tangent; thus, he was, at moment, thinking of a nice house in Kokomo. That was, until Watari barged in, panting and sweat-soaked, demanding in a placated voice that he speak to the detective.

L obliged, removing himself from his position in haste and following the man out of the room. It was there, in the hallway, when Watari began to speak in a hushed voice.

"L, I believe we are in grave danger," the man murmured, his eyes darting about every which way. The detective felt his heart rate increase, and his swallowed down some saliva.

"Why? Watari, what.." his voice trailed off as he noticed the blood that was soaking into the man's collar. It was then that he realized, but he was in too far a state of shock to accept it. "W, Watari, you're bleeding."

"Huh?" The man's wrinkled fingers dabbed the spot on his neck, before pulling away and sighing. "I guess I am. But, that is of no importance. We must leave posthaste."

L could feel it in his stomach, the way his innards were rolling about dangerously. "Who did this? Explain, _now."_

Now flustered, the elderly man grabbed hold of L's bony shoulders and gave him a violent shake. "No time. _Beyond_ knows you're here."

That name, L sighed. It was that name that caused the detective to freeze up, and bestow upon his elder a harsh look. "What did he do to you?"

"It was nothing that could not be handled. He merely tried to hold me hostage and negotiate with me a plan to kidnap you. He made a fatal flaw, though. You see, after we got out of the car-"

"He _hid_ in the _car_?" L's eyes widened to an impossible width when he was given a grave nod.

"Yes. It seems he's become a lock-picker. But, I managed to get away by, uh.." He gave a rather dreaded sigh, and L prepared himself for the worst. "It's rather embarrassing, really.."

"Just tell me!"

"Well, you see, when he began to unsheathe his knife again," he ignored the quiet noise from the detective, "fight-or-flight kicked in. So, I went for the most vulnerable spot.. I.. eh.. Kicked him in the testes."

L wanted to hug the old fellow for his embarrassment. He was too much of a gentleman for his own good. "Good. Okay. Er, then, yeah. We have to leave immediately."

Rubbing his face tiredly, he dragged his body back into the room. His body, all of a sudden, felt about twenty pounds heavier. For the first time, yet again, he witnessed pure exhaustion.

Boy, he thought with a rather sour face, he needed to get back to headquarters.

* * *

Mogi, Light concluded, was like a moving boulder. A large, immovable object that is rather dense at any given time.

His wrist was almost bleeding raw from the entire day's abuse. Unlike L, who was light enough so that Light could easily drag him around, Mogi was the equivalent to a small boat. Light found himself unable to drag the man around him in his wheelie-chair, and that the man would not react fast enough (most times) to Light's movements.

Though, of course, the heifer (or so Light called him) would apologize to the teenager every time Light hissed at him. That was what angered Light more: the man was far too polite.

So polite, the teen thought, that it made him somewhat suspicious. The teen stroked his chin, soaked deep within his thoughts and accusations. How could a man be so kind and helpful, yet not expect anything in return. Ryuuzaki would display _staged_ acts of kindness only when he wanted something done.

Light rubbed his forehead tiredly. It was getting on his nerves; all he'd been doing, all day, was thinking. And saving Matsuda's ass from a Kira-like death. But, it seemed, everything he did followed back to L. Maybe he missed the detective.

Or, he thought, maybe he missed the intelligence. Yes, Light nodded, it was his intelligence. He was sick of the task force. Never before had he bared witness a larger display of intelligence. These men seemed to lose it without L, which irked Light to no end.

It wasn't like the pale detective _did_ much when he was around. He would mostly just keep to his own and eat his sweets, while the entire team did his dirty work.

Of course, Light thought, Ryuuzaki kept them _busy._

Unlike Light, who would run around with Mogi as the man printed out papers, L would mostly sit in front of his computer and make for himself a one-manned team. But, when he was stumped, or just felt like forcing someone else to do it, he would dish out several different orders for each and every man.

Also, Light grimaced, Ryuuzaki could put on a rather intimidating face when things went amuck. He was obviously an obsessive-compulsive, and preferred to have everything done the way he had predicted. Which, Light concluded, was why he was so terse with Matsuda.

Light crossed his arms and eased himself into a more comfortable position. All of his pondering was making his head ache. It amazed him how much L could think, and how many branches his thoughts could stem off into; and the man would never once complain of any pain to his cerebrum.

That thought alone fueled Light's thoughts back into motion. He needed to become as good as the detective. He was already a child-genius. All he needed was some good cases. It wasn't that hard, Light smirked, to be able to outwit L. Though, it was just the fact that the detective could predict the teen's every move. He had a scenario for almost every situation.

With a sigh, Light accepted the truth: he missed the quirky detective. It was obvious, he assumed. His first _actual_ friend was thousands of miles away, so it was somewhat logical to miss the little jerk.

Of course, he didn't miss the sarcasm. Nor did he miss the sugar fetish and lack of proper mannerisms. It was quite possible he missed having someone to beat up whenever he was frustrated.

Light shook his head; he was not violent by nature. It was usually aforementioned detective that brought out pointless, spasmodic instances of violence in the boy.

"Whatever," he murmured to himself, rubbing his forehead. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that the gesture had not gone by unnoticed.

"Light, are you tired?" Mogi tilted his head to the side, and moved his chained hand to scratch the back of his head. Said action only caused Light to jerk forward in surprise. "Do you need a break?"

"Yes," Light sighed. "A break would be nice."

A plus to L being gone, Light thought wryly: The numerous breaks that they all took part in. It seemed the men were compensating with the lack of breaks they were allowed when the spidery detective loomed above them.

But, then again, Light didn't care. He was somewhat enjoying the brief absence.

* * *

Devil's food cake, L realized, was a good comfort food. He felt as though he could understand why the female race seemed to resort to sweets when they were in distress. He had observed Misa when she stuffed her face full of chocolates when Light had accidentally snapped at her that one time.

Yes, he nodded as he licked his fingers; chocolate cake was indeed good for calming his nerves. He moved his bottom around on the cottony airplane seats. He had, after four hours and thirteen minutes, managed to piece together a proper establishment for the orphans, and had made it to the airport.

Currently, he noted, he'd been airborne for around three hours and fifty-seven minutes. The short time lapse bothered him. L was not a patient man—in fact, it was quite the opposite. When he wanted stuff done, he _wanted_ it done. There was no _time_ to laze around when you're in his position.

He could die at any given moment.

_Death_.

The mere concept of death made the man's face pull into a rather awkward grimace. Human flesh decomposing as the body shuts down, soon becoming a cesspit for maggots and other insects as they feed on the tender and rotten innards that once were held sacred in your body. All that persons dreams and ambitions in life dying with them as they slowly melt into complete nothingness as the years pass on.

L hooked his index finger in his mouth and pouted. It was apparent he needed to occupy his mind on something not so depressing. But, he could not help but stumble into the darker realms of his thoughts. He _was_ troubled, after all.

The detective scoffed at the light terms in which he was assessing his current disposition in. It was more like he was caught in a game of "Kill-or-be-Killed." It didn't help that this ran true in two situations:

If Kira didn't kill him, the Beyond most certainly might. And, L thought with a wry smile, if neither of them did, the stress could give him a stroke.

_It's useless to think like that_, L concluded. He rubbed his toes together with vigor. Five and a half hours had passed since he had departed, but it still left him with a large time span to go. He'd never dreaded his thought processes before.

L stuck he head between his knees and cradled the back of his head. He was beginning to exhibit symptoms of a rather harsh migraine. This worrying was bad for his health. He had never had to assume and resume this much in his entire short lifetime.

It was rather disconcerting.

A nap was in order, L concluded, as he stood up on his private jet. He padded along the velvety carpet to the kitchen area; in which, he came upon a sleeping aid. He quickly downed the suitable amount of the liquid and gagged at the horrid, vile taste of the concoction.

Though, he reminded himself, it was for the best. He was sure that if he continued to think about his predicament, he'd surely kill himself.

With that in mind, he strode back into his seat and made himself comfortable. It was not long after until he began to feel sluggish. His mind fought to stay awake, but was being coaxed into silence as the "poison" began to kick in full.

Twenty minutes later, L was in a dreamless slumber—thumb tucked away in the cavern of his mouth and his feet sprawled out on the rug.

* * *

Light, who was in his deepest form of REM sleep, was violently disturbed by a shrill ringing of his cellular device. At first, his mind discerned it as part of the dream he was currently engaging himself in: in which he was sharing apples with some sort of ghoul. But, after three instances of the occasion, he found himself wide awake.

He gave the alarm clock a desperate look, only to note that it was four in the morning. He still had five hours until the entire team arrived, which angered him.

The tiny blue device began to chirp again, and a bemused and aggravated Light flipped it open and brought it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Light!" It was the loud, bright voice of Matsuda that echoed through the receiver. Light resisted the urge to roll his eyes and scream. "You need to get downstairs. Everyone but you and Mogi's down here!"

"Why?"

"Ryuuzaki's back early," was the cheerful and simple response.

It made Light's heart jump with excitement. The detective had come back already. It hadn't even been more than a day, tops, but he had finally returned after what Light thought to be eternity. He hoped he never had to lead these men again.

"We'll be down, soon."

Light didn't bother to wait for the response, and hung up. He turned his attention to Mogi, who was already awake and ready. It seemed that he was the last to receive the news.

It had taken but a half-hour for the teen to complete his rituals in a haste. He seemed to be hell-bent on seeing the detective again, if not only to relinquish himself from head of the investigation and part-time babysitter of the men.

"I don't see how he does it," Light muttered to himself as he stood in the elevator. He stared at the ceiling, which distorted his reflection back toward him.

"Excuse me?" Mogi turned to him with a look of confusion on his face. Light flinched, he had thought out loud.

"Oh, it's nothing." He gave a small, discerning smile. The man seemed to take the bait, returning the gesture and focusing on the doors again as they gave a "ding" and opened up to the main level.

The first thing Light's eyes landed on was ebony on stark white. Then he met the rather dead-looking eyes that held some life in them, for the man was clearly showing signs of amusment.

"Ah, Yagami-kun, Mogi-san, how nice of you two to finally grace us with your presence. I am flattered, really."

The sarcasm. Yes, Light shook his head, the detective was back.

"Oh, hush up, Ryuuzaki." He crossed his arms over his chest and strode toward the man with purpose; he didn't notice how he had easily dragged Mogi along for the first time. "You're the one who was obviously desperate to see us. I mean, you made _Matsuda_ call me. Not to mention you're back about, let's see, six-days before schedule."

"I didn't tell anyone to call you," came the deadpan remark. Though, Light frowned, a smirk was forming on the detective's lips. "Matsuda was the one who blabbed that you were having so-called 'L-withdrawal,' Light-kun. He said you had been silent and moody all day long. So," the detective's lower lip jutted out and he graced Light with a rather pouty, childish look to hopefully offset the inevitable violence that would follow, "who missed who, exactly?"

But, instead, Light only smiled. "Eh, you caught me red-handed."

L looked taken aback at the sudden confession, which caused the younger teenager to laugh in response. "Must you look so surprised, Ryuuzaki?" He leaned forward to whisper in the detective's ear. 

He didn't notice the odd stare he was receiving from said man. "Honestly, I am grateful you've returned. I was about to go insane."

"Oh?" L took a step back away from the teen and nibbled on his thumb. "How it warms my heart to know I've been missed."

Light didn't know whether to take it with offense of gratitude (the man's voice was rather flat has he spoke). So, he decided to take it with apathy, more interested in watching the man as he un-cuffed Mogi's wrist and re-attached the cuff on his more slender wrist.

"Well, then." He redirected his gaze onto the screen of his untouched computer. "I suppose we've gotten this tiny reunion over with. Now, let us get back to work." He began to tug along Light as the teenager groaned.

Everything was back to normal.

Or so it seemed.

L was far more stressed than before. The task force had made quite a few discoveries. It seemed that it was almost certain that one of the Yotsuba elite was Kira. As he watched the tapes of the meeting he had missed in his leave, he was able to discern several members of the seven that were _not_ Kira.

It seemed that Light had done so, as well. Which was good, L concluded. If the young teen could reason at a similar pace to the detective's, L could worry about someone else.

Beyond was stubborn beyond normal comprehension. It was a trait that he had picked up when he was the next in line to become the next L. When he was younger before, he had also been stubborn. But, when he was reasoned with, he would soon enough surrender.

Not anymore, though. It was blatant that the man would stop at nothing. L wanted to do nothing more than scream at something, someone. But, for many reasons, he could not allow himself such outbursts. He was the three greatest detectives that ever came into this world. Worrying over one stalker was not something that someone in his position would do.

But, then again, B was no _ordinary_ stalker.

No, the man very well exceeded the realms that constituted normal obsessive behavior. Of course, it was perfectly normal to kidnap the object of your obsession, which B had succeeded, already, in doing. It was another thing entirely to murder and mutilate in order to reach said person.

And, again, he had gone _beyond_ the norm by dressing and acting like L himself. Not once, in the many cases he had solved, had he seen an obsession quite like B's. It was almost as though it was some sort of illness.

Mistaken identity seemed to be the case. He remembered it with complete lucidity: Beyond had attempted to force the detective into calling the man "L." Of course, with his pride on the line, L had done no such thing.

Even after brutal mutilation to his body, and the severe pain he was put under, he had refused to crack. He had seen it in B's eyes; the man was desperate.

Beyond had been desperate to steal L's only true identity. And he might've gotten away with it, had the detective not previously escaped the entire fiasco by luck entirely.

Shuddering, the detective made effort to banish the memories to the back of his head. He was in no state to even _think_ about what had happened back then, and he was in no mood to get emotional. It was a weakness that L prided himself in not having.

He glanced over at Light, only to notice the boy was staring straight at him. It caused the man to smile to himself, it really made him feel nice that he had been missed by another. And, it amused him that the teen was ready to engage him in a staring contest. It was endearing, in a sense.

So, the two wasted precious time by keeping at each other with blank stares.

* * *

It was amazing, Light realized, how fast a week could pass when every waking hour is occupied by one thing or another.

The days had gone by at a pace that seemed like moments. It seemed like an hour ago that he had been dragged into Misa's room by the detective and was forced into compliance by the two to act against Kira. It seemed like thirty minutes ago that Misa had burst into the room with audio evidence that Higuchi was, indeed, Kira.

He had also noticed, on a more positive note, that he had been ever-so-slowly building onto the relationship him and the detective shared. As of late, Ryuuzaki had been allowing himself to show the slightest bit of emotion to the young teenager. It made Light happy that he was being allowed the privilege.

In fact, it had made him excessively happy, which had shocked the teenager further. He had never felt this grateful to be accepted; maybe because he had never had to try. It was all refreshing.

But, now, all he felt was adrenaline. He was in a chopper being flown by the illustrious L, following a small, red sports car as it sped downward into the trap; skidding to a halt before the barricade of cop cars.

He was surprised, and so was L, that there was even a barricade. The detective had explicitly ordered there to not be any police interference. But, apparently, Aizawa didn't want to listen.

Excitement coursed through his veins as he heard Watari's sniper fire at the car, thus effectively ridding Higuchi of whatever the man had attempted to do. He glanced over at L, who watched the entire scene with an astonishing blank look. Light had to give credit where credit was due: the man was the master to hiding any and all emotion.

His father went into the vehicle and picked up a black notebook, it seemed, before turning to his left and letting out an unbefitting holler. He began to chant that there was a monster, looking for the world that he had lost his sanity.

It wasn't until Aizawa repeated the action that L demanded the notebook be brought to him at once. Light stared on as the detective gingerly received the artifact and turned to the commotion.

Then, Light saw it—a faint mixture of fear and surprise flitted though the detective's eyes as his lips parted slightly in a silent gasp. It was that moment that Light knew he _had_ to witness this.

He made haste to snatch the notebook from the detective, who was still to shocked to respond, and before he could even believe the figure the stood off by the car, he let out a scream as he was flooded with memories that had been banished into his subconscious.

When L looked over at the teenager for the first time since, he was no longer staring at Light Yagami. No, it was not the friend he had managed to make. He was staring into the eyes of the original Kira.

He knew it, too. But, he as too rushed to realize as but seconds later, Higuchi was suffering from a heart attack, and L was filled with helplessness.

* * *

Beyond Birthday was not amused in the least. Not one thing was going according to plan.

He had managed to board his destined flight, when some annoying harpy of a flight attendant began to fuss over him. Though, with surprising difficulty, he had managed to do away with the woman and stuff her corpse into a large cabinet. He had also managed to don himself in her apparel: fitting rather nicely into her skirt-suit and bonnet.

He made a pretty woman, B smiled. With his lean and bony physique, he radiated the aura of a helpless, emaciated woman. He had worked his mane of hair into a reasonable do that framed his face and made the bags under his eyes look more like a smoky sort of eyeliner.

Though, it disgusted him when he received many lewd and perverse comments from the occupants of the airplane. If it were up to him, they'd be dead, but he did not want to start a scene 10,000 feet in the air.

Not even Beyond Birthday was that insane.

So he rather miserably bared he teeth and took it, before arriving in Japan. It was then that he stripped of the dress and put on his normal attire. He then took to the streets.

It was harder than he had assumed it to be to blend in. His Caucasian features and junkie-stereotypical look made him stick out like a sore thumb. When he tried to lure people into his traps, he received a harder time than the women in America.

So, he took to it the hard way: kidnapping. He would stalk his prey down to their house, and then steal them. Each person led him closer and closer to his destination, before he disposed of them in their very own vehicle.

To him, everyone was expendable. It was a matter of principles, anyhow.

But, it seemed that the cops were on his tail. Someone had noticed him, and so he had been forced to maintain a low profile. If he were caught, it would off-set his entire purpose.

It didn't help that he had to run from the police once, either. Though, the chase ended with him slaughtering the two officers and, in a bout of anger, skinning their faces and burning them. It worked like a calming cup of chamomile on the psychopath.

Thus, he found himself at the rather large and expensive building that the detective took refuge in. It was easy enough forcing information from the old man: it seemed he valued his life more than anyone else's.

Sneaking in had also been a breeze, seeing as though Watari had been forced into compliance to grant Beyond access without setback. Though, that was where the ease had ended, though.

It turned out that his little Lawliet had cuffed himself to another man.

That made Beyond boil over in rage. L had made it the utmost of importance to make everyone understand that he enjoyed his privacy. Willingly allowing himself to have his privacy breached made it clear to the murderer that the teenager on the other end of the chain held some importance to the detective.

Also, it meant that Beyond could not so easily take the man. His plan had been put on hold, because it would not be any sort of fun to try to sedate two geniuses.

B was patient, though.

So, he waited. He watched as his Lawliet opened up more to the Japanese teenager—aptly dubbed "Light-kun" by the dark-haired man. It amused him to no end as the two would engage themselves in endless quarrels and the like.

It provided him with leverage over the detective. And such juicy, delicious leverage it was. It pleased the man to no end how easily his job was going to be given the opportune moment.

And, a week later, his moment had come.

Something keen to the investigation had arose, and had been taken care of. Now, he was currently watching on as his pet was harassed by the entire team. He looked flustered, but resigned with a rather light sigh.

"Fine, then. I shall allow Yagami-kun his privacy back." Looking for the world like a kicked puppy, he removed the shackles that had bound him to the teen. It was then, and only then, that B wanted to scream with joy.

He continued onward, watching the teenager's reaction. It had piqued his interest to watch the teenager, because Beyond could recognize a change in the boy's demeanor. It seemed that the detective noticed, as well—he glanced at Light every now and then with a weathered eye.

It was orgasmic, B concluded. L looked like a caged puppy, more jittery and nervous than ever. Beyond was pleased to know that his prey was going to make it much more difficult. But, he had to move quickly.

Being a genius, and a killer himself, he had already deduced that (with help from listening onto the conversations between the investigation members) Light was, indeed, that "Kira." Oh, how depressed the detective was looking. B licked his lips.

This was it, Beyond thought, the time to act was soon to come to light, and it would be delicious.

* * *

Light was thrilled that his plan had actually worked. He had managed to outwit L. _He,_ Light Yagami, had managed to toy with the greatest detective like he was but a pawn to his set. The only thing that kept him from breaking down in laughter was the abundance of people around him.

Though, he looked over at the detective, Ryuuzaki seemed to know something.

Light would not put it past the man to catch on. But, he told himself, it was too late to realize his error. The detective had put his trust and hope in the wrong person, and it would set him back majorly.

Of course, it hurt Light slightly. Light had befriended Ryuuzaki, and it had grown into a sort of affection for the man that was almost loving. But Kira and L were enemies. It was inevitable one would kill the other off sooner or later.

But better him than L.

But, he couldn't shake off the feeling of wanting to qualm the detective's nerves. He blamed it on the innocent, pure side of him that he was now forcing to lie dormant. Although, it wasn't working.

That was what made him drag the detective away from Rem the following evening.

Ryuuzaki had stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared down at the floor as he followed Light out into a hallway. When the teen turned back to the man again, Light noted that Ryuuzaki seemed to hesitate for the briefest moment before turning his gaze onto Light's face.

"What is it, Yagami-kun?"

Light flinched. He had never heard someone sound so tired and put-out in his life. It was that that made him wrap his arms around the detective—a move that put both men in a state of shock.

Light couldn't recognize that he was holding the man, when he should most surely be laughing in the detective's face. L was seemingly turned to stone when the boy made contact with his skin.

"..Light-kun."

Light gulped, but did not release his hold. "Yes, Ryuuzaki?"

"Why are you hugging me?"

Smart question, Light thought, straight and to the point. He felt terrible for the vague response of, "I don't know."

The "oh" that came from Ryuuzaki only made the situation even more awkward. Light shook his head and buried his face in L's locks. He had expected the man's hair to smell like graze and unwash, but was met with a light strawberry fragrance that made him scoff at the thought. L used strawberry shampoo.

"Look, Ryuuzaki," he finally released the man, but instead held onto his shoulders. L stared up at him unflinchingly. It set off Light slightly. "it saddens me that you are so depressed. I mean, you just look so tired and it hurts me to see you this way."

At that, he saw the detective's gaze look even more distant. "Is that so, Yagami-kun? Well, I apologize for making you feel such ways."

Light gave a mental curse; of course, he had realized, L was not going to fall so easily into his act. So, it was key to persist. "Look, L, I don't need your sarcasm. I care about you."

"I care about Light-kun, as well. He is my first friend, after all."

"Then why can't you act more, you know, _friendly_?" Light waved an absent hand around and met L's gaze once again. He looked generally surprised.

"I didn't know I had to, Yagami-kun. But, if you want me to, I shall try." Something inside of Light was pained by the toneless and dead response he was given. It was as if L had become a robot toward Light.

There was only one course of action..

He swept his head in and met L's lips softly. It amused him how unresponsive L was, because Light knew he had caught the man off-guard. Though, he did not expect to be punched in the gut violently by a seething Ryuuzaki.

"Light Yagami, how dare you!" L gave the man a kick to the chest as he recovered. "I don't know what kinds of manipulation you are trying to pull on me, but let me tell you that it will not work. If you think that by kissing me, I'm going to fall for you, then you're sorely mistaken." He calmed down, but did not move from his fighting position.

"I am willing to forgive Yagami-kun if he apologizes and realizes that I am not some female for him to release his hormones onto." It was deathly silent for a moment, until Light stood.

"Okay, Ryuuzaki, I apologize. It was a spontaneous and irresponsible move on my part." Light gave the man an apologetic smile, and made a stride toward the door. "It shall never happen again."

"No, it very well won't."

Light allowed the detective to enter the main room first; his mind was cursing his failed plan with a vengeance. It was a hasty and sloppily-formulated idea that probably set him back in his initial plan to ease L away from his suspicions. There was no false sense of security that could be given to L, anymore.

Light cursed, it seemed that he needed to act quicker than planned.

* * *

**A/N:** That kiss obviously meant nothing, Lol. And, yes, how shall Beyond react to said kiss, anyway? And why must poor L be bullied so? Because, that's why.

I honestly dislike this chapter, but it was essential to move the plot forward. Now you see that everything has been set into motion, along with the betrayal of our dear ol' Watari. It's sad, no?

I haven't been able to look over my chapters, so don't mind any grammatical errors that occur. I'll look back later, but I just want to present this to you guys, because I love you's all.

Review and tell me what you think, no?


	6. House of the Rising Sun

**A/N: **Whoa Nelly! Look at all that positive feedback. You guys are just.. stupendous. I am totally serious when I say this. Thanks times a bil, yo'.

It took me a long time to choose which version of the song I wanted to put on this chapter, for some reason. I was originally going to do it from the woman's POV (the "_Oh Mother tell.." _ would be "_Oh tell my baby sister not to do what I have done. But shun that house in New Orleans they call the Risin' Sun._") Not much of a dilemma, but I made it one for some reason. Such a lovely song..

**Disclaimer:** Trust, I don't own. Death Note is not mine, regrettably so. Neither is 'The House of the Rising Sun.' Oddly enough, that's an American folk song that's been adapted into mainstream pop culture via such talents as Bob Dylan, and the Animals.

* * *

"_Oh mother tell your children__  
Not to do what I have done__  
Spend your lives in sin and misery  
In the House of the Rising Sun"_

* * *

Rage can very rarely be defined on a perpetual scale of emotion.

Though, at the moment, Beyond was sure that if someone had attempted to measure the pure, seething anger that coursed through his body, it'd be the equivalent of a 10.0 on the Richter scale.

Adrenaline coursed through his stilled body, causing trembles to dance around in his muscles. He wanted, with all of his might, to rip that tongue out of the boy's mouth and hang him from said organ. It would be something that would've pleased him greatly.

But that course of action would, of course, ruin his true intention: getting L. So he made haste to banish the thoughts from his mind. He'd find a better way to kill that Yagami kid, later.

Bringing his bloodied thumb to his lips, he continued to watch the live feed of the video cameras with renewed interest. Though things had become monotonous: L and the Yagami brat were talking about something useless, that odd (_or semi-retarded?) _detective was still just gawking at thing air- or, what Beyond presumed, was that "Death God" they were all speaking about. The old fart was glaring at Lawliet's back, the afro-man was trying to get a word in edge-wise with the detective, while the large buffoon actually did his job.

Beyond rolled his eyes and spun around once in his seat, turning back in time to see L smile at something the young Japanese kid had said. It seemed that Lawliet had learned to forgive and forget.

_How quaint,_ Beyond thought with a chortle, his bare toes rubbing together in glee.

* * *

L allowed a faint smile to grace his lips as the teenager beside him uttered something completely out of the blue. Even if his first and only friend _was_ Kira, it would do no harm to attempt to enjoy some of his company while he can.

The reason for that logic was the fact that L _knew._ He understood that, from hereon, out, that things would only become more tense and insufferable; that he and Light would constantly be waging war with each other, and knew that L was the one to lose, though, in the end.

It had become obvious that he would not win. While Light had lost his memories, he had managed to rally the entire task force behind him. If L even attempted to make another Kira accusation, it'd most likely end in disaster.

Time like these made him wish that he had taken the time to present himself nicely. Human beings were shallow, appreciating the beauty of the outside versus the beauty of the inside. Working with such people, L had known, would only be in vain if the suspect was too beautiful for the accusation.

Thus was the case with Light.

It was obvious that L was a genius, but one did not have to be a member of Mensa International to see the blatant facts and testimonials that led directly back to the beautiful young teen. L wanted nothing more than to blind the team and scream the hardcore evidence in their faces. Yell and degrade them until they _realized_ the faults they had made in assessing Light's character.

But, to his chagrin, he could not very well do such. He would not lose his cool around a bunch of so-called "men of the law." L Lawliet had his pride, and would not attempt to do something so childish as to humor these men.

It had come as a kind of acceptance that he, regrettably, was forced to accept. He would not, of course, go down without a fight: he planned on doing everything in his might to pick and pry at Light's composure before his death, and uncovering as much as he could before he passed his information onto his successors.

L relaxed when he thought of the Whammy boys: if Kira had thought _L_ to be a nuisance, he might just give _himself_ a heart attack when the boys were thrown into the mix. Said fact would most definitely run true if the boys could somehow find a way to look past the disagreements and work together. But he know that would _never_ happen.

L glanced over at Light, who was resting his head in his hands as he read over a file with faked-diligence. Suppressing a snort, L took a deep breath and stood up. "Would Light-kun care to accompany myself as I care to my hunger in the kitchen?"

He saw the refusal in Light's eye as the teen turned to him, but the detective blessed him with his most innocent, wide-eyed look: looking like a small, beaten and starved orphan-panda hybrid.

And it seemed that even _Kira_ could not resist the look, for the boy sighed and stood with an air of annoyance. "Let's go, Ryuuzaki."

He walked two steps behind the teen, but could not rid the feeling of being watched. He had felt it ever since he had stepped into the investigation room hours before. It was as if something, or _someone_, was keeping a meticulous eye on his. It unnerved him slightly; at first, he had though it to be Light.

Though it was apparent that it was not, seeing at the boy had his back to the detective.

So maybe there was an unconscious decision that he did not know about when he had asked the teen to accompany on this short trek. At first, he had thought it would greatly annoy Light- which it did. But, maybe his body was just nervous to be alone.

L frowned. That was something new.

Bringing an index finger to his lips, he hooked the appendage to the inside of his lower lip and sucked gently, lost in thought. But, the musing ended when he walked straight into Light's body.

He stumbled for a bit, before righting himself and glaring at the boy. "Why, Yagami-kun, did you cease in your movements?"

After the question left his lips, he was gifted with a strange look from Light. "Uh, because we're in the kitchen?"

Indeed, L affirmed, this was the kitchen. He was actually standing beside the refrigerator. "I see.."

"Yeah.."

L opened the door to the fridge without another word, pushing aside objects that did not interest him. For a few moments he performed this action, before finally finding the object of his desires: Strawberry shortcake, spongy and yellow with pink whipped cream perched with precarious care above the fluffy, fragile cake. Its appeal made L's mouth water slightly; he was going to enjoy this.

"Would Light-kun like something?" he added as he came to his senses, turning to the teen. Light just glared at the saccharine substance in L's position and shook his head.

"No, Ryuuzaki, I'm good. You enjoy it."

L ignored the fake smile. "I shall."

The man shuffled to the kitchen island and perched himself atop a tiny stool. Light, still unaccustomed to the detective's amazing equilibrium, gawked.

"It's not nice to stare, Light-kun. Did your parents not teach you any manners?"

He smirked behind his fork as the teen's cheeks tinted red in apparent rage. "_You're_ lecturing _me_ about manners?! That's hypocritical, Ryuuzaki, seeing as you have quite a long list of mannerisms that make it _obvious_ that you were never trained to act proper."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really."

"Whatever you say, Yagami-kun."

"Insufferable bastard!"

L withdrew a chuckle that tickled his throat, opting instead to throw the boy a smug look. "Ah, well. Aren't friends supposed to get on each other's nerves?"

"Yes," Light nodded. "But, you take it to an extreme. It's detrimental." Light put on an innocent façade and looked away from the man. L wanted to laugh in his face.

"Right, Light. I apologize," wash is deadpanned, dead remark. Light's (_Kira's?) _face contorted to a look of pure rage for a moment, before his masked the anger and smiled.

"Sure. Are you done?"

"Yes." The man nodded, and carelessly threw his dirtied plate and fork into the sink. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and followed the man out of the room.

"You know, Light-kun," L began as they rested themselves on a couch, L getting ready to prepare a round of questions to throw at the Death God that hovered around him. "I believe we are in need of a good game of tennis. A re-match is in order."

A pure smile found its way onto Light's lips, which caused the dark-haired man to give a tiny smile of his own. "You're correct, Ryuuzaki. Though, I cannot see why you want to badly to be defeated."

"You won by pure luck." L huffed, crossing his arms over his knees. "My mind had been occupied by other matters."

"Sure, Ryuuzaki, sure," Light gave a sarcastic nod and stretched his arms up in the air, crossing one leg over the other. "Whatever you say."

The conversation ended then and there, Light standing up and muttering something about Misa calling him. L tuned him out and picked up the Death Note that lie before him. He thus began the tedious task of pulling vague responses from Rem.

Though as he did so, he still could feel the eyes on him, and missed having the boy behind him. Kira or not, Light Yagami had become his friend.

And Ryuuzaki missed his friend.

* * *

It was well past twilight, and a lone, solitary figure was present in the main investigation room. The figures ghostly features were softly illuminated by the bright light of the computer screen. Bony fingers were tucked away as a thumb pushed against a pale bottom lip. Dark eyes scanned details with critical accuracy, eating up and spitting out every word with a vicious manner.

Soon after, it seemed, his work was done for the night: the thin figure letting out a soft sigh and standing up. His bare feet glided along the cool linoleum without flinching in the slightest as they guided their master up flights of stairs.

Close to five minutes later, said feet stopped before a door to his room. The feet's owner made a rather distressed look. Slowly, a head framed by thick raven's locks turned a wary eye around his shoulder, perturbed and paranoid emotions showing in his gaze.

"It's probably nothing," the man muttered to himself, though he worked fast in opening the door. But before his could step inside, he was stopped by a force equal to the weight of another human being.

"Oh, but it _is_ something, Lawliet."

Wide, dark eye framed by a black ring of sleeplessness stared in shock. Those pale, pastel-pink lips trembled slightly in surprise. "Be.. Beyond?"

"Yes, my sweet," the assailant murmured into the man's ear, smirking as a syringe slipped from his sleeve into his hand. Before the man below him could react, the needle met an artery and within moments, the struggling man was unconscious. "Now, rest. We have much to do."

With those words, he began to carry the lithe form from the building.

* * *

_Not as planned_, was all Quillsh Wammy could think of as he ran through the entirety of the building. The elderly man's exertion began to take it's toll on the man, as he had started to wheeze and splutter in agony.

Beyond had given him a strict guideline of his plans: survey L in his environment, maybe leave the man with a parting gift, and go on his way to return some later time. Of course, it was foolish of the man to believe, but he had nothing else to fall back on.

He had known what Beyond had meant when he said he'd kill the old man: he'd kill everything that ever pertained to Quillsh Wammy. The orphanage had already been taken care of, but not the children that had been housed inside of it. Every single child in that household was a part of him, and every one would have met their demise at the hands of the raving psychopath.

Watari's shoulders slumped as he search came up fruitless. B was nowhere in this building, and neither was L. He crawled back to the surveillance room and buried his face in his hands, sighing in a rather tragic manner and removing his glasses.

All that was left now, for the moment, was to pray for the well-being of his charge and the man he thought to be like his son. L's will-power had to amount to something, right?

* * *

**A/N:** kejfalfjadf. I really did not want to post this chapter, it's making me feel anxious. It's sketchy and does not make much sense, in my opinion. Maybe you folks might like it better, because to me it feels rushed. But I have a feeling this is the only way this story can progress. Gah! DX

Review, please, and tell me if I should re-write this puppy. I need feedbacks, people.

Thank you for reading this!


	7. Brain Damage

**A/N: **Richard Wright died today. He was the pianist/keyboardist for Pink Floyd, if you did not know. One of the most inspirational men and one of the most inspirational bands. Though I be he's jamming it out with Syd Barrett now.

**Musical Influence: **This chapter's being written while listening to a Floyd sesh. Currently, I'm listening to "Brain Damage."

Also, apologies in advance for a shitty chapter.

**Disclaimer:** Naht.

* * *

It was the rattling of his own stomach during the break of sunlight that turned Light Yagami from his once-been peaceful slumber. An unintentional internal instinct of some sort was telling him that something had gone amiss. Something was not as planned.

That feeling alone made him sit up from his bed and slip on a pair of slippers. He stifled a yawn to himself and crawled out of his bedroom; it had been deemed fit that he was in need of a glass of milk.

As it had been since the day he had hit the age of thirteen, the long hallway and stairwell was completely silent. The immaculate halls were lifeless and black as though the shadows had formed a protective barrier from the rising sun. Light's elongated shadow was but a mouse in a mural to the numerous before him.

He descended the stairs in utter silence, not a single noise to be heard by the human ear. As he feet touched the bottom step, however, he had begun to hear voices that he was positive did not belong within the confines of his mind.

It was a lowered hiss of a man late in their prime, sounding almost like the cat whom swallowed the cheese grater. The most prominent tone concealed within the voice was the indisputable rage the owner felt. Soichiro Yagami was angry, huddled in the kitchen and barking in a hushed voice into the telephone.

Light could not think for a moment. One thought that passed through his mind was whether or not he should laugh at the ridiculous predicament had put himself into. That thought only became more fueled when his father's dark, squinted eyes rose to meet his in a look of utter astonishment.

"L-, Light, my boy.." The man's voice lost all anger, and his face took on a more regrettable hue. He lowered his eyes to the floor before he stood from his seat and shuffled over to his son. Large, calloused hands rested on the shoulders of the teenage boy whom he was proud to call his son.

Light's eyebrows, in a well-nestled habit of his subconscious, rose a millimeter in length. His eyes tightened ever-so-slightly at the corners, and he crossed his arms over his chest as though he were preparing himself.

"What is it, father?" The teen-turned-killer put on his most innocent, curious tone. Honey brown eyes shimmered with concern; the action, as planned, causing his father to turn his face away from the boy.

"Ryuuzaki is gone."

* * *

The case seemed to be that, no matter how long you tried to will it from your mind, one could never fully be relieved from the feeling of pain.

Such a case was becoming prevalent to L, who had awoken from his slumber to the feeling of wire cutting into the skin of his arms and pulling the limbs in such a way that both shoulders had now become dislocated.

He let out a whimper from the initial pain and shock of his predicament; though it hit him moments later that, in fact, he was not dreaming.

Beyond Birthday had, yet again, managed to capture the elusive detective.

The man found that the only utterances that seemed to froth forth were silent, berating curses of which found it fit to rain down upon it's teller. His customary position had been breached, so it made it near impossible to think to full reasonable capacity.

He could not, for the life of himself, remember what he had done to slip. Each move he had made, especially since his conclusions he had come to in England, had been properly executed to avoid such an even from happening- much like it was now.

Was that it? Had he been _too_ cautious? In the paranoid assumptions he had not, indeed, thought of B _planning_ on aforementioned assumptions. Such a quandary..

In trained silence, the detective made a sad attempt to sit in a more comfortable position. It had, however, backfired; he had not planned on the pain becoming worse and worse with each inevitable shift and wiggle. He bit down on his lip to keep from crying out loud.

A shiver crawled down his spine quick like a bolt. It was at that precise moment that he realized how much colder it seemed to be versus the time of year. Then he looked down upon his form and realized the attire he wore consisted of nothing more than a simple cloth tired around his nether-regions like a diaper.

"What in the.."

He could not even utter the sentence before a low, breathy chuckle was heard from the opposite side of the room. L attempted to careen his head over his shoulder to no avail.

"Don't think to hard about it, Lawli." The voice, so sick and sweet with the ever-underlying tone of malice, crawled into his eardrums and reverberated in the respective places. "You might hurt yourself."

Out of the shadows crawled the man: gangly, thin, and awkward in all of the _wrong_ places. The pale ivory of a face was mired with sticky, pink smudges that fell in globs from his cheeks and onto a black shirt. Bony, bloodied fingers moved through the air to hide a broad grin.

The entire figure before L made the man's stomach turn.

"What do you want, B?"

More of the cracking, hoarse laughter that sounded more like a horse calling out it's final neighs. L blinked at the tone, fighting to keep control of his emotions.

"To pick up where we left off, of course. I told you I wanted to play this game with you, _Lawliet_, and I fully plan on doing so. Maybe next time, when I'm 'it,' you should hide better. Tsk, tsk." He waved a jam-stained finger in a chiding manner, stepping closer to the detective as he did so. L instinctively recoiled into himself.

"Bu, But I got away the last time, Beyond." L tried to reason, gulping in the slightest. He noticed the way B's smile turned maniacal at the noise. "I hadn't the chance to catch you again, either."

"Correction, my pet." He held up an objecting finger and bared his teeth, resembling a small wolf. "When I escaped from the asylum, that was meant to be your turn. But, as you can see, you gave up your right when you ignored me and chased after your precious 'Kira.'" The doppelgaenger gave a rather bored shrug and moved to sit on L's waist.

"I bet you're wondering how I caught you, my dear." The saccharine in his voice returned at full force, and he dug an elongated nail into L's chest and trailed down; cutting open flesh at the sheer force of the touch.

"Well, my Lord, there was a Judas amongst you."

"Beg pardon?"

The smile had been erased from the similar face before L could even wince at the words he had chosen. He had forgotten the man's abhorrence to repetition, and was sure that he would feel the repurcussions later onward.

"_Lawliet_, my Lord," the detective attempted to ignore the jeering tone in which the man spoke as he felt his ears being pulled in a rough manner. "Must I clean out those pretty ears, as well? Where's the value in that? Should I just _cut_ out the problem?"

L's saliva seemed to halt in its tracks, wanting to bare witness to the events that were lying on the tongue. It was painful to swallow.

"N, No, Beyond. That's quite all right." L swallowed down bile as he felt sharp canines clamp onto the uppermost portion of his left earlobe and, before he could even scream, felt a small chunk of the cartilage be torn off.

"_Don't fuck with me_." The whisper was almost gone unheard from the cries that left L's throat; the man's body had gone into panic mode, and he was more so in the mood to keep himself from relapsing into a childhood panic attack.

Beyond could only sit up and stare at the magnificent sight before him: a whimpering, hyperventilating detective writhing before his form, bathed in the warm rays of the morning sun.

Oh, the irony.

"Settle down, Lawli." The tone was more of a command than scarce words of comfort, but L latched onto the words like wildfire. Large, gray eyes peered upwards, attempting to mask the obvious fear within. He heard the muffled chuckles as the man swallowed the little bit of flesh he had bitten off.

"Good, you're calm." the man stood and smiled the warmest smile L had been recipient of in ages. "Now, I'm just going to make a phone call. Would you like to partake?"

"And who're we calling?" Much to his relief, his voice had returned to the monosyllabic tone his had grown accustomed to. Beyond winked.

"I believe his name is 'Light Yagami.'"

* * *

Whether or not the surprising speed in which each member of the investigation had gathered into the headquarters was astonishing or not was irrelevant. Each man (and woman, for Misa had stubbornly stated she wanted to partake in this fiasco) was running around in a shell-shocked state to search for evidence and the like to which they could piece together the strange and perplexing disappearance of the mighty detective.

Light, however, felt more rage than shock. If this was, as it was turning out to be, a kidnapping, then that meant that someone else was now in possession of the detective's life. The mere fact that some imbecilic fool had bested him in his _own game_ was beyond comprehension.

Honestly..

The teenage held his head in his hands as he leaned onto his knees from his position on the couch. To any of the occupants of the room, it seemed as though he was saddened over the fact of losing his best and dearest friend, Ryuuzaki.

What they did not know would not hurt them, Light presumed.

As he sat up, though, he felt a vibration in his pocket. With a surprised blink, he fingered the phone and stared at the Caller ID. He then let out a small gasp.

"Everyone, hold it! Ryuuzaki's calling me!"

Every head, all of a sudden, snapped in attention. Wide, unblinking eyes gaped at him with open mouths. Each man reminded the boy of a drowning fish. He bit back the thought and flipped open the phone.

"Ryuuzaki, if you think it's funny to run away, then.."

"_You're wrong, my friend._" That voice, Light gawked, sounded much like the detective's. The only difference the brilliant young mind could decipher was the crazed undertone the man carried.

"Who is this?"

There was a long pause in which Light could here two voices conversing with each other; though, Light realized, the secunda of the conversation was being gagged. "_You can call me Rue, I guess. I'm an old _associate_ of Lawli's."_

"Lawli?" Was that some sort of twisted term of endearment for the detective? Or was it code for the man's real name? Light had no time to think, though. "What're you doing with L?"

"_Playing a game." _The terse and obscure responses he were receiving were beginning to get on his nerves. He quietly mouthed for a GPS tracker on the call, to which his father nodded.

"_Oh, and if you track this call, L will be dead before you even find a location._" The tone had become childish and cheerful, as if this "Rue" had just told him that he learned how to tie his own shoelaces. The teen growled and killed off the trace.

"What do you want?"

A chuckle was his immediate response, the pure grating of the sound enough to momentarily shut off the teen's thought processes. It was such a sickening tone. He then heard a slight whimper from somewhere else in the room; the owner of the voice, Light was going to guess, had been L.

"_I do not like repeating myself, brat. If you do such a thing again, poor Lawli will have to pay._" As much as the thought should elate the teen, it did not. He blamed it on the fact that it was not he who had the detective at his mercy.

"Okay, so.. a game? What kind of game."

"_You _are_ smart. I guess I can see why you grew so fond of him, _Lawli." Light didn't miss the condescending voice on the other end. He fought back the urge to snap. "_Any how, I digress. Have you ever played 'Hide-and-go-seek'?"_

"Of course."

"_Grand, then!_" An immature giggle cracked through the other line, causing the boy to wince. "_I can skip the rules. There is a twist though: You have a certain deadline.."_

"What is it?!" Light found his patience with this lunatic running thin, he gritted his teeth and somehow knew that he might've looked, then, like a caged sort of animal. The thought just fueled his righteous anger furhter.

"_Calm your horses there, cowboy! As I was saying.." _The disembodied voice cleared its throat through the airways. "_There is a deadline in which you must find me. If you do not, I fear for the consequences._

"_Anyways, I guess I should get on with telling you, seeing as Lawli's looking kind of lonely.."_ Light heard a muffled shout, and knew that the detective would much rather stall on the inevitable.

"Please, Rue, just tell me. Stop beating around the bush."

"_Okay!"_ The voice was a happy, sweet chirp. The man, Light assumed, would have clapped had he not been holding a phone in his hand. "_Okay, then, I shall tell you._

"_You have thiteen days to find L. If you do not succeed in doing so, I am sad to say that his life shall run no more._"

And before the shocked junior detective could even inhale again, the line went dead.

* * *

**A/N:** Oh noes! What is this madness?! That's so insane! WHAT IS THIS?!

I don't know. Ha-ha. Someone kill me.


	8. Number Nine, Number Nine

**A/N: **Eh, yeah. I promised a reader I'd update, like, a week ago. But I was too sick to even stay awake. I'm still very sick with an infection, but I'm not at school today, and decided to update. If this chapter sucks, please don't hurt me.

Blame it on the durgs.

**Musical Influence: **_Revolution Number Nine_..

**Disclaimer:** Death Note is worth money. Lots and lots of money. I'd have to say that, at the moment, the most expensive thing I own is my Alvarez. So, in that, I do not own Death Note.

* * *

"Low-light, Low-light, Low-light, Low-light.."

The jeering, raucous musical tone in which his name was being sung had caused a chill to run down and throughout the frail frame that was L Lawliet's body. He was reminded, somewhat, of the avant-garde tune that Wammy would play when he was but a young boy. Some track by the Beatles, he was sure..

It was far too early to become so analytical, his brain had screamed at him. Which was true- he had just been awoken by the rumble of the man's voice.

It was as though his name were on a loop, and the vociferous voices that raged on outside at a distance from where he were did not help to qualm his nerves in the least. He was almost certain that he was near a train station; for he would, on occasion, hear the harsh grating of a horn followed by the rhythmic hum of the wheels colliding with the tracks. The screaming would die off, if only for a moment, and the loud movement would begin again.

Then again, he had lost the sensation of sight, along with partial hearing, when he was so haphazardly bandaged by the deranged man who had managed to kidnap L for the second time. Ergo, he could not really come to a definitive answer.

For all he knew, this was but a clever ruse.

With a loud, wistful sigh he attempted (for the _nth_ time) to make himself more comfortable. His arms had gone numb from the pain, and L could not even tell if they were the victims of an amputation. Dearly, though, with all his might, he hoped that weren't the case.

Sometime after the terse, yet interesting, conversation with Light over the phone, Beyond had proceeded to carve his initials near L's left hipbone. It was as though he were a man possessed, filled with raw, green envy as he dug the blade far too deeply into pale skin. L hadn't cried out then. No, it was far too risky to do such a thing. He had bit back on his lip and hoped he would not swallow his tongue.

But now, as he squirmed about under Beyond's intense weight, it had become blatant that his bleeding had yet to subside. With all his might he wanted to scream, cry out and lash about in the hopes of someone hearing him.

Such an action would sure enough award him with a slow decapitation, though. And besides, his arms were bound by piano wire. It was not as though he could readily escape without cutting through tissue, muscle and bone.

L was certainly _not_ in the mood to bear witness to the color of his own marrow.

He almost screamed when his head was grabbed with a bruising force and then was rolled and tossed around so much that he began to choke. Distraught, witless laughter was heard overhead, and it took all his might not to outright sob.

This ordeal was all but horrific to him. Never in his entire life had he felt so clueless to the situation. He was unsure of whether or not he would die in this next moment, or become the subject of inane torture.

Bloodied fingers were beginning to cut into the skin on the back of his neck. The man's thumbs crushed into his Adam's Apple with enough force to leave an impression on his skin. Maybe this was it, the detective thought, death by crushed esophagus.

His head was becoming light, and his senses even more dulled by the second. He had stopped struggling by now, finding it smarter to die with dignity rather than like a caged animal. It was almost time to accept his final quietus..

And just as he was sure and done, making a point to ignore the final bout of consciousness as it began to list off the things he had regretted not to do in his short life, the hands were off of him, and he felt a wet muscle glide harshly around his cheek.

"Good morning."

* * *

Day one had come and gone far too quickly, in Light's opinion. Then again, he had yet to do but one thing in regards to L's own welfare.

It was not as though he gave a damn about that idiosyncratic fool. The only reason he had agreed with Watari (the damned old bastard that he was) and the rest of the imbeciles that called themselves a task force was so that he could rescue the detective and kill him himself.

And, if he failed, he would at least be able to hear the detective's final cries.

Thus be it as it were, it was well into three in the morning when he decided that his searching had gone on far too long. Searching the culprit's true name was a bit of a joke. The old fart had told him and his team of Beyond Birthday, but nothing of what the man looked like.

As it turned out, seeing as he was a former associate of L, his photo was nowhere to be found on the Internet. He had even gone so far as hacking into the LAPD's webpage and looking though the file, to no avail.

All he had were old news clippings of the murders, along with Watari's account of the psychopath.

And, truly, the man was a psycho. From what he's read and from various recordings on tape that the old man had managed to dig up from interviews between L and the man, the kidnapper's sanity had long gone on a wanderjahr and never returned.

He was halfway through the third interview between L and Beyond (the latter telling the former, in explicit detail, of the time he crushed a squirrel's head with his bare hands and proceeded to embalm and dissect the creature) when the phone began to ring.

Perplexed, and with a smidgen of apprehension, he quickly brought the receiver to his ear and awaited the person on the other side's voice.

It surprised him more so when the voice was not that of Beyond Birthday, but of L himself. "L, Light-kun?"

"Yes, Ryuuzaki, it's me." Light wanted to wince at the hoarse whisper that was once the commanding drawl of the man. He wondered what had happened to the detective. "You sound like shit."

The was a coughing, choked sort of chuckle as the detective wheezed out his laughter. "Well, you know, rough day at the office."

At this, Light did cringe. That was a moronic statement to make. "I can tell. What's going on, though, where's Rue?"

"Resting on my solar plexus." L wheezed the answer out and moved to inhale again. It was with terrible difficulty that he succeeded, however. "He wants to know how it's going."

A quandary as ever, Light noted. He bit down on his lip in a harried manner, tapping his fingers along the monitor of his computer as he searched for a proper response. Was that it? Should he just tell the truth? If he lied, would the spindly, spider-like man be killed as Light listened on, alone and cold in a dark room?

"Uh, er, not so well, Ryuuzaki. But, but.. It's only day one!" For reasons he could not comprehend, he was hit with the insatiable craving to pacify the horror and tumult the other boy must be feeling.

"It's all but quite all-right, Light-kun. I am quite confident in your reasoning abilities, as well as Watari's own." It sounded downright looney, in Light's honest opinion. The great L was putting his own life in the hands of a college student and an elderly man that could very well be senile!

All that did was through the boy into a fit of rage. Clearly, L was not thinking in the right mind. The detective could talk his way out of a murder conviction, if he so wanted to. Why was he not freed by now, crouched beside the youth, rambling on in that senseless way of his to the reasons why Light was Kira?

"Right, L." Light bit down his remarks. There was no use baiting the boy, he obviously had enough troubles on his chest. Literally.

"Anyway," the detective let out a grunt, and Light could hear the faint shuffling and cluttering of objects. "I, I think I must take leave now. I, ah," he held back a whimper. "I'll talk to you soon."

Light wanted to utter another word, but found himself incapacitated to speak when he heard the maniacal laughter over the phone.

"_Have a nice night, Light-kun. I know I will._"

* * *

Roger was a proper man from a proper family. While it were true that he was born and raised in Liverpool, and was known to indulge in quite the nefarious company back in those days, he was now purged of his sins and cast as a free man.

It was only proper that he did not throw a fit when he was the recipient of such terrible news.

He had been seated beside young Mihael Keehl, who was playing a round of Go Fish with the young Jeevas, when his cellular device went off around his right pocket. His thinning, pale gray brows knitted together, for it had been terribly early in the morning at the time of the ring. He cast a wary blue eye at the telephone, only to see a large "W" on the screen.

Hurriedly, he dismissed himself from the boys' company (Near's gaze was beginning to perturb him greatly, anyhow) and rushed out of the hospital doors. Without a moment's haste he put the phone to his ear and murmured out a reserved "Hello."

It surprised his greatly, the desperate, frail tone that was Quillsh Wammy's worried voice. He was half-tempted to stop the man mid-rant and try to lull him back into a composed reality. But then it hit him what the man was telling him.

L was gone.

Such a disaster it was, not even for just the detective solely. If word were to get out that the man had been stolen, he was almost sure that the world's leaders would throw a fit and start blaming each other. Criminals would rejoice. It would cause some mass hysteria, so be it.

What disturbed him even more were the instructions that the distraught man had fed to him. This was utter blasphemy! It would endanger the boys and possibly even he himself!

But he knew what he had to do. It was his job as a proper Englishman, and as a mentor to the detective. It was indebted to him.

So he clicked the phone shut and, with shoulders slumped, meandered back into the room. All three boys made quick note of the tense atmosphere. Matt even shut off his PSP.

"Boys, we have a grave, grave situation at hand.."

* * *

And you all probably thought I had forgotten about ol' Roger and his band of misfits! Fret not, for I haven't!

And what's this? Light's somewhat concerned for L's well-being? WHAT IS THIS MADNESS? I don't know, do you?

Poor Lawli, as well. What a shitty wake up, no? I'd rather not be awoken in such a manner.

Now, before I go, I'd like to ask the readers (who also might happen to be writers) if, while they write a story, it becomes easier if you find a song that inspires you. While I was writing this chapter, I had "Revolution Number Nine" on a continuous loop. I had not been able to write until I put this song on. 'Twas odd.

Oh, and as a final note: Has anyone seen the feature film _The Doors_? I am watching it after I post this, and am curious to know if anyone's enjoyed it.

That's about it, friends. Thanks, again, for reading. Now, do tell me what you think.

In other words, review. :D


	9. The Game

**A/N: **Holy bologna! I'm, like, so totally excited for this chapter! This is so splendiforous! Aren't you as excited as I am?!

In other news, I'm just out of the hospital. I had an appendectomy- which basically means I got my appendix taken out. Ergo, I'm now on Percocet. I've been sleeping and lucid dreaming for the past 3-4 days. I don't know how long, it's been a blur.

**Disclaimer:** I'd like to say that I own Death Note, but the economy is failing and I cannot afford the subsequent lawsuits that might or might not follow.

* * *

If he had been a cruel man, which Beyond most certainly was _not_, he would have allowed the pale creature in his captivity to soak in his bodily odors and bowels. Though, as it were, he was a kind and thoughtful man- a bath-time was in order.

He had a new game plan in mind: sleep deprivation was at hand; in order to allow his prey the chance to wallow in a forgotten sanity. The human psyche can only last for so long before it sees what is not present and follows what it not the greatest in logic.

It was a pertinent measure in his plan if he were to bring the detective down off of his pedestal. The idea was to make Lawliet _feel._ Feel the morbid, macabre-like agony that he had suffered. What _A_ had suffered. They had to suffer for him, and now he must suffer for _himself._

Of course B would be a liar if he were to say that he wasn't interested in the faces that marred that pretty little face. A little part of him was aroused by every twitch and grimace that this _oh-so_ fascinating creature made.

While he unwound the bloodied wire (picking off some of the peeled skin as he did so) he made a point to ignore the blatant and questioning stare that he was receiving. It pestered him every time those god-damn eyes would stare into his with unabashed emotion.

This _thing_ was not supposed to feel. Ever.

That's what he had been taught—never, for as long as you are conscious of it, feel. It was against the rules to have emotions. Emotions lead to biases; biases lead to disaster.

He grabbed the mottled arms of the bony man and began to drag the figure down and out of his old resting place. Again, he made a point to ignore the quiet, indistinct mewls of pain that the beautiful figure made.

But he _did_, however, notice the signature that he had made upon the ivory skin. As it were, the scabbing had peeled off and it was again bleeding. It was troubling him, even, the way it hadn't stopped. Ah, well, that was a matter for later.

Luckily for him, the abandoned station in which he had made for his hideout had rather large bathrooms. In which, he had been able to utilize basic water pipes and the likes to create a makeshift bathtub.

"Beyond, wha.." With a sharp kick to the back of the head, Beyond silenced the troublesome, questioning detective. Honestly, that boy did not know how to shut his mouth.

With little effort, he gave the detective a careless toss into his ghetto little tub. Though, it wasn't to say that he was not proud of his creation; it was most certainly one of the bigger projects he'd ever worked on in his entire life.

So it took a lot of constraint on his part not to gouge those appraising gray eyes when the _thing_ gave his tub a once-over.

Of course, he was too afraid to say a word, to which B felt a smidgen of pride at. All the detective did was bring a hand up to rub at his shoulders. Beyond reckoned that it was painful.

But then again, he could care less.

Rummaging through his deep pockets, he retrieved half of a bar of soap. With a strut so silent that it wouldn't awaken a guard dog, he went to Lawliet's side and began to scrub at the man's skin. He almost laughed at the shock and fear that crossed the detective's face.

"Calm it down a notch, Lawli. I'm just giving you a bath. I don't want you to smell like a pile of feces and stale urine, now. Not even _I_ can tolerate it for too long."

"You're_ too_ kind, Beyond." Ah, there it was. That ugly sarcasm the thing was infamous for. It was amusing that, even in his current disposition, he could use it. Then again, Beyond didn't have respect for this man for no reason..

He made a fist, sticking out his middle finger about halfway, and deftly hit the man's right temple. After the subsequent yelp that followed, he gave a dark chuckle. "I don't like your sarcasm, Lawli. Be kind, before I drown you, dearie."

"But that's against the rules, B." This man, who at the moment resembled a drowned rat or dog, still believed that he, Beyond Birthday, was one to play by the rules?

His naïveté was going to be the death of him.

Though he said nothing, choosing instead to grate at the remainder of the skin on the detective's arms, reveling in the paroxysm of pain that erupted onto that face. He leaned over to do the same to the other arm, when he suddenly felt a weight on his back, and a wetness on his face.

It became perspicuous that he was submerged in the mired water that the detective's bodice had once been occupying. What was also blatant was that his captive was no long presiding inside of the bathtub. Which meant one thing:

Lawliet was escaping.

With an enraged snarl, B reeled out of the tub. Wild eyes that shone brilliant red scanned the floor to find the puddles that had once been the man's footprints. Oh, what an irrational, damaging decision this was going to be.

Running at a speed that he hadn't though possible to him, he hunted the man down. Soon enough, he saw the pale, stark naked form of his prey. For all his luck, the detective had managed to find a plausible escape route. Too bad for him, though, was that he had yet to look back and see that B was already closing in on him.

And, when he finally dared to, he was slammed into a wall at breakneck speed. Beyond cackled at the choked sob that erupted from the detective. Though, it was not enough.

"You fool! Did you verily believe that you'd be able to escape me with such a half-assed plan? There is no way you'll ever escape me, _Lawliet._" Seething was a fit word to describe the rage. He looked down at the consternation that graced his look-a-like's features.

"You'll never, _ever, ever_ escape me on your own. Never! _Do you hear me_?!" He pulled out his blade with the speed and skill of a trained warrior, and pulled at L's hair. Quickly enough to keep the man disoriented, he brought the detective to his knees, before throwing him down stomach-first.

"I'm going to make you scream, Lawliet. Due to your treason, you're going to wish you were never born. I _tried_ to be nice, L." He brought the blade down and quickly did away with each of the boy's Achilles' tendons.

It was then that he heard fearful, inane screams and cries. Only then did he hear the pitiful, mindless sobs.

He knew that he had just begun to break the man. Now that L was dependent only upon others, he was afraid. Fear was something the sheltered man had never known. He had done it.

He had made L Lawliet cry.

* * *

Three days.

_Three days._

Three-god damn-days had passed.

Light was, to say the least, a little bit upset. Three whole days had passed and all he had managed to do was whisper sweet nothings to a distraught detective. He was beginning to feel as useless as he looked.

Of course, none of the task force dare to speak their thoughts. It was as if they knew that they would die a slow, agonizing death if they _dared_ to utter a negative comment in Light Yagami's direction.

Which would be true. Kira or not, the livid teenager was _murderous._

So it wasn't much of a surprise when that old _fucking_ bastard waltzed into _Light's_ investigation room and declared that he was bringing in backup.

Oh really, Light had thought. What a unpleasant, unneeded distraction. Some more punks to waste space and irritate the irked teenager. That's _exactly _what he needed.

But, of course, he did not voice his thoughts. Instead, he put on a rather charming smile and thanked Watari for his caring thoughtfulness and the likes. Of course, none of this would be pertinent if the old bastard had done his _job_ and babysat that nuisance.

So, there he was, twelve painful hours later. His situation, and subsequently his mood, had dampened as three tiny figures emerged into the room.

Of course, he had stared. And gawked. To be exact, a little piece of his pride had withered away and died a painful, burning death at the sight of his "help."

How old were these kids, twelve?!

The first, and most prominent one was the blond who looked a lot more like Two-Face from all of those Batman comics he used to read. Light presumed that this he-she was more of a _he_, counting on the lack of breasts as evidence. Also, he was hording chocolate bars _everywhere. _Light was certain that his boy shared the nuisance's affinity for sweets and gluttony.

The next one that stood out to him looked more like a giant snowman—pallid, ivory skin, white-washed hair (which tripped Light up significantly), white pajamas, and coal-like eyes. Stick in a carrot and you had Frosty, the innermost portion of Light's brain jeered. He had dubbed that part of his brain the part that had been afflicted by Misa.

Lastly, there was a redhead. Who, nonetheless, was smoking. Again, how old was he? And Light couldn't help but notice the orange goggles, and horde of video games he stored within his grasp. Though, if any were the most approachable, Light was certain that it was this one. He wafter off an aura of.. normalcy.

"These," the elderly man (whom, Light coughed, had gone long-forgotten) began to speak, "are acquaintances of L. Heed no prejudice to their age, for they are highly capable in their fields. If they weren't, then I would not have brought them to us.

"Introduce yourselves, boys." He turned to each and gave them a rather stern look. The blond one scoffed and crossed his arms over his leather-clad chest. With a flick of his hair, and gave each male a cold, appraising glare.

"Name's Mello. Don't fuck with me, because I have no qualms in blasting a hole in each of your pitiful, worthless brains." He made sure each male knew he was serious by pulling out his Glock and twirling it with his index finger.

The next one to speak up was the redhead, who coughed slightly and gave a passive chuckle. "Don't mind him, he's a tiny bit cranky. You know, jet lag and all. I'm Matt, and I major in technology. I've already hacked into your database and it's obvious how little we've missed. Again, don't fret, I'm guessing that's why we're here to help out. Nice to meet you's all." He gave a small wave and a broad grin, and Light couldn't help but think of how big a _nerd_ this kid was.

Every gaze honed in on the final guest, who had yet to speak. The boy stood, twirling his hair and just _staring_ at Light. Which, in turn, freaked the teen out. Never had he thought that a human being would have a more creepy gaze than L's.

Of course, he had just been dis-proven.

The blond one, Mello, made a rather disgusting noise. "Speak up, you fucking idiot."

Finally, Near looked away, and gave Mello a rather uncaring look. "You don't need to throw such petty phrases at me, Mello. That's why you're Number Two." Again, he didn't look caring as the blond began to prepare himself to pistol-whip the boy, instead turning to the force. "My name is Near. That is all."

Light stood up, and began to introduce himself. As he did so, he noted how the force began to become more animated. Each smiled, stood up and made introductions (Light was almost to tear with laughter when Mello made Matsuda screech like a parrot). When each was finished, and the animosity died down, Light's phone began to go off.

All of a sudden, Matt connected a cable to the phone, and nodded to Light that it was okay to answer. Each child's face was dead from emotion, like tiny, fun-sized robots.

So Light answered the phone.

* * *

It had been forever since L had felt this exposed. This situation was becoming more and more unreal and imaginary that L was beginning to hope that someone had, by chance, drugged his morning tea.

He knew he had finally lost it that moment he had been stripped of his ability to walk. A tiny part of his dignity had left him, he was lost. All that was important to him was that he did not die. His despondency was beginning to take control of him.

Since then, he had been unable to stop the tears from flowing. Warm, salty rivulets trailed down his flushed cheeks in streams, dehydrating him to the core. But B had disappeared hours ago, and so there was no one there to bear witness to his state of despair.

Though, he could now hear it, murmuring and the mad, maniacal laughter that was Beyond's. It was his trademark, really. But, it also meant that he was speaking to another human being—he was conversing with Light.

Raw emotion built up in L's chest. He needed to talk to someone, anyone; Kira would even suffice, as long as he could just get it off of his chest. He was _afraid._

Too weak, L noted, as he failed to lift his head up. That was, until he felt scalding heat on his hip, right over his wound. With an animalistic howl, his entire body collapsed within itself and his legs jerked up and gave an involuntary kick to the man cauterizing his wounds.

"S, St, Stop it!" There it was, that fucking sobbing, childish whine that had become his voice. He was a _joke._ It didn't help when he began to whimper at the cackle the man had made.

"Temper, temper!"

It was then that his eyes when blind and he let out a screech of the utmost embarrassing anguish. Something hot, searing, and burning had forcefully penetrated his anal cavity. Then it was blatant that the cauterization rod had been forced inside of him. Agony to the _nth_ degree coursed through his veins. He began to plead with his mind to numb him, do anything to help him.

A frantic pulse was in his ears, and he could not make out the sounds around him. He could, though, hear the frantic, indistinct shouts from Light over the phone, accompanied by the ever-present laughter from Beyond.

Such circumstances, as it were, caused distraught laughter to come from L himself. Listless, insane chuckles, blending with the sobs that choked gasps that he also emitted, sounded through the room. The chained man's body jerked about with not a reason.

The laughter died down, and all L could do was stare at the ceiling. Everything seemed to have paused, even the inane laughter of Beyond Birthday. It was almost as if the world were waiting for him to speak.

"I'm losing the game."

* * *

**A/N:** What a cheesy, shitty ending. I didn't know how to end it, though! DON'T KILL ME! Originally, though, it was going to be "I want to die." But, sadly, L isn't _that_ weak. No, no, no.

Let me clear things up for you: L is desperate. Before, he didn't mind as much because, if worse came to worse, he could escape on foot. But, B took away his ability to rightly run, so now he is almost _forced_ to rely on Light and the team. Of course, L does not fully trust them all. Who would when your entire existence is put on the line with those dudes? That's why he's wigging out.

Blah, I dislike this chapter. Shoot me.

Tell me what you think, i.e, review.


	10. Goodbye Horses

**A/N: **_I HAVE A LONG-WINDED AUTHOR'S NOTE, PLEASE DO _**_NOT_**_ SKIP OVER THIS!_

One: Since I am _utterly_ immature, I giggled at the number of reviews I had at about 2:05 AM several days ago—which was 69. Hence, I am now giving my 69th reviewer a chance to have full control of a one-shot that I am to write for her. **Hybrid-Sunshine**, that means you. GET AT ME!

Two: I am proud to say that I am making two more Death Note fan fictions in the near future. One is _another Beyond and L_ fan fiction, though not so much. It's going to be _Silence of the Lambs_ with Death Note incorporated into it. Except, probably less cooler than you think. The other is crack/comedy fan fiction. As of which plot I want to choose for the comedy, I'm undecided. So, yeah, stay tuned, because it won't be like all of those self-inserts/Mary Sure/illegible fan fictions that have been festering onto this art like raw enemas. akjfladsc

Three:**This one is very important because it pertains to this story in particular!** For a while now I've been debating something very important. This decision was whether or not I have B amputate one of L's limbs. I have been fussing over this and I suddenly came to the conclusion that, why not let my readers decide? So, there it is. I WANT YOU, THE READER, TO VOTE: Should, or shouldn't, L be the recipient of an amputation? If you so please, you may even tell me _which_ limb. But that is if you want it to happen.

**Disclaimer:** I'd like to say that I own Death Note, but the economy is failing and I cannot afford the subsequent lawsuits that might or might not follow.

* * *

The stiff, stale scent of apprehension wafted throughout the large area that was the investigation room; every single occupant hadn't the gall to utter a word. All eyes were on the tiny flip-phone that held the only means of communication between themselves and their detective.

And, of course, his captor.

"Good evening, Light-_kun._" There it was, Light winced. That jeering, sarcastic tone in which the psychopath spoke his name. That one honorific that picked at his conscience like a tick. He despised it with all of his heart.

"Beyond." Light noticed to his left that the blond child, Mello, had adopted a rather nasty look at the mentioning of the kidnapper's name. Almost as a reassurance, the boy stroked his weapon. The junior had half a mind to take away said _loaded_ object due to the homicidal look on the boy's face. He decided against it, though.

"It's quite the fine night for mischief, is it not?" A light cackling resounded over the line after he finished speaking. "A fine night indeed!"

"What do you mean?"

The laughter continued, sending waves of apprehension through Light. Matt, the empathetic soul that he was, gave him a small pat on the arm and motioned for him to continue the conversation (if it could be called such).

"You'll see. Actually, count to ten. Starting.." He paused briefly and, Light concluded, he stepped into an adjacent room. "Now."

So he did as such—counting slowly, baiting his breath and just staring openly at the phone as if it were about to open up into a television and show him what the _hell_ was going on. The permeable silence that had taken over the room helped none, either.

Then he heard it. Or, to be more exact, he heard _him_.

Wild, inane cries of pain which came from a human being whom Light never expected to make such noises. It was L, sounding for the life of him like an abused animal, sobbing and screaming in a helpless manner; also, he wasn't sure if he heard it, the faint sound of sizzling, as if something was being burnt.

He heard a soft grunt come from Beyond, followed by the soft, fearful pleading of the detective as he tried, in vain, to stop the senseless violence. Light wanted to shout and run around seething in anger when he heard the deranged chortles that followed. Mello looked ready to shoot the phone, and Light was all but ready to allow him the opportunity.

"Temper, temper!" The voice came through like static, and Light felt a moment's chill course through him. That foreboding feeling had return, only to leave when he suddenly heard a loud screech from over the phone, before the yelling cracked as the owner of the scream tried to steady himself.

It was not helpful, though, and the disembodied voice of the oddball detective cried out in agony. Light could only imagine what was going on over the line. Then again, it was better for his psyche that he did not.

All of this was overwhelming, Light needed reassurance that he was the only one about to slip into some sort of psychosis. The Task Force was in awe, staring with glazed eyes at the cellular device and looking for all the world like they had seen a zombie. Mello, of course, looked downright murderous, all-but ready to go on a slaughtering spree. Near looked as he always did, though with slightly larger, more dilated, pupils.

Matt, poor Matt, looked paler than Death. Behind his goggled, Light could see pure, raw fear. He was in agony, seemingly disturbed by the noises over the line.

And disturbed he was. Disturbed enough to yell directly _at_ the cause of such disturbia. "Quit it! God-damn it! Fucking _stop it, B_!"

"Please!" Light continued for the young boy, who was now beginning to cry. "Stop joking around, Beyond! It's not funny; it's sick. You're a sick, _sick_ bastard!" His voice had lost the authoritative edge, and he had begun to sound more like the desperate, confused teenager he was. He was but eighteen years old! He hadn't the capacity to deal with deranged lunatics kidnapping detectives, et cetera! It didn't even matter that he was shouting without hope, that these people have seen him go over the edge.

All the murderer did was laugh some more, maybe even harder than before. Though, there was a secunda in this laughter-session. One that was more like a sob, and a _lot _more distraught than the other. It even ceased the prima's supercilious chortles.

Even more silence—such silence was beginning to disturb Light. Whatever happened to the dutiful clapping of keyboards that resulted from the tireless effort from pale tapered fingers? He remembered when he once welcomed a moment's silence, now it only made him feel uncomfortable. It left him to his thoughts, which was a place he did not want to reside in at the moment.

Even L's disturbing, heaving laughter would be more of a comfort to him than the silence. It was deafening.

"I, I'm losing the game."

And the line went dead.

* * *

"You're quite delectable when you're distraught, my pet."

Beyond's brazen words veered L away from his hysteria. Looking upwards, he took immediate note of the predatory gleam in his captor's eye. Warily, his body languid with trepidation, he squirmed into a more comfortable position that would be more considerate to his freshest wounds.

"What are you doing?" If it were so possible, the amusement in the other's voice could bring down houses, as brash and edgy as it were.

"Mo,moving into a, a more comfortable position." His breathing, moreover heavier than it had been, caught in his throat every so often. It'd be better not to speak, if only to save himself from asphyxiating on his own saliva.

"Not so fast," the silken, suave voice that Beyond had adopted purred. The man disturbed L's movements with his own body, straddling the hips and, obtrusively so, sitting on his burnt flesh, managing to tear of some of the excess, raw skin that hung limp, causing L to let out the most minuscule of cries. "I'm going to have to go outright and say it: You don't move unless I tell you to move. Is this understandable?"

The prey shook his head, eyes wider than usual (it seemed to have become habitual). "No, why?"

"I don't want you trying to get away again, now, would I?" Beyond trailed his own bony, slender fingers down the detective's thinning frame. He put on a rather mischievous grin as he stroked and scratched at L's skin, looking for the life of him a remastered Buffalo Bill. This, of course, aggrieved the young man, he'd seen that look before.

"Did you know," Beyond traced the cauterized wounds with a sort of lustful hunger about him, before tearing off the remainder of the hanging flesh and popping it in his mouth. Though, of course, not without rolling them into tiny, little ovular oblong shapes that resembled a human Tic-Tac. "that A and I used to play 'Vampires?'"

L was then beside himself with tremors; this conversation, if it were to be referred to as one, was taking a turn for the worse. Those red, hungry eyes were alight with delight of the apprehension that donned L's face.

Beyond placed a precarious hand on each side of the dainty little face, and leaned insomuch they were touching noses. "He would fall asleep at night, around midnight—the sleeping pills helped—and I would sneak over to his beautiful, slumbering form. Oh, L, he was a grandiose sight when the high moon's rays would pool around him, looking for the world like a lonesome corpse, just in the throes of Death with skin so supple and ready for the taking. I really couldn't help myself. To be blunt, I'd daresay anyone who resisted the temptation a few notches short of a full bedpost."

He paused, blinking languidly, before he gathered himself again. "As it were, every night I would crawl on top of him, and bite, pinch and suck my way underneath his skin. He would usually awaken from the midst of a fitful slumber around the time I punctured flesh. Of course, he'd fought it, at first, before figuring it _wise_ to let me do as I so please. Around the time of his early demise, however, he'd be the one attacking _me_, so needy and willing he'd become. He was quick to conform, to enjoy the odd and painful pleasure that I'd bestow upon him—insomuch that soon enough he was doing it to himself.

"I walked in one night to find him lapping up his own blood straight from his wrist. He had a crazed look, my pet, and I'd never actually been fearful of another being until I'd seen what he had become. It seemed, to me, that I had pushed him over the edge. Your tiresome, nit-picking demands and the macabre set upon him by me had sent him over the cuckoo's nest. So, that night, I locked him out of my room. In the morning, I woke up to find his blood all over the door to my room, along with a nipple nailed to the door-post Of course,being the frugal man that I am, I licked the dried plasma from the door and hardwood and ate the flesh, effectively destroying the evidence. Then you arrived, and A went to humor you first, only to run out screaming and ripping his own hair from the roots. Same night he killed himself, too."

Beyond put on a rather thoughtful face, before staring down at the detective with a pondering look in his eye. "I never did find out what you'd said to him, being that all he did with me afterwards was force me to suck every inch of his frame until he was bruised and bloodied, but that's the past. I told you all this to tell you, now, that I want to play a game—well, another game."

He gave a light chuckle at his slip of the tongue, but all L felt was malice and bile. He was filled with self-loathing, along with contempt for the man above him. All of the fear and pain had dissipated, leaving him a bitter hollow for the time remaining.

"What is it?" Oh, how meditative it would be to curse this man like a mad mantra, a flurry of curses and screaming and raw fury to just rain down upon the captor.

But of course, L does not want to die.

"Okay," B's facial features distorted into a primitive look. "We're going to play a game. I think you already know the name. Except, there is a twist. If you scream, or fight me, I _will_ hurt you. If you think the child's play up until now was horrific, then I do hope you brace yourself, my pet. It's a long and tiresome ride."

Before L could even form a concept of a concept, B had honed in on his jugular with a deadly precision, suckling and slurping until he bit down hard enough to draw the nectar he had dreamed of. A gasp held itself in L's chest, and he forced his eyes closed to shield himself from the sight of this.

There was a full thirty second lapse in time when B lifted himself to L's eye level, wiping the blood from his lips and smearing it across L's cheeks. "Like pure artwork."

"Fuck you," the pacifist murmured, refusing to make eye contact with the other. Of course, his body involuntarily convulsed in pain, and that's when he heard the cackling again.

"Shucks. And to think, you were doing so well in controlling your temper, too."

With a grin on his face, Beyond traced around L's navel (which, of course, happened to be an Outie), before he leaned over with grace and dignity and clamped around the detective's navel with a solid jaw and pulled, hard with all of his might, stretching the excess skin taught and clawing the detective's nipples as he groped for something to hold on to.

After biting it raw—of course, finding his efforts futile as he did so—he sheathed his trusty blade and began, in a painstaking pace, to slice away at the flesh, digging inwards and carving out as he did so. He finished with practiced ease and stared down at the bloodied hole that was once L's belly button. Placing the skin in his mouth and swishing it around like bubble gum, he chuckled and shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, pet, I guess it's an innie, now."

* * *

When Mello had stormed out of the room without another breath, Matt knew that everything went wrong. The task was to go in, retrieve L, and leave without a moment's trace. Don't show emotion, don't speak to anyone unless stated otherwise.

Of course, they hadn't been counting on the phone calls, nor had they ever conceived the notion that L could _screech_. It was only logical that such happenings could perturb even the hardest man.

But Matt could not think. His entire body seemed like molasses (Watari had to push Matt along to his temporary station and help him to sit) and he just felt like he had melted down.

Though it wasn't himself that he minded. He just did what any other average, human being did. That was how he functioned. Matt was nervous for Mello, his best friend, who had more than likely been affected far more than he.

To Mello, L was more than the pedestal they must overcome, he was the brother that Mihael never had, the angel who had rescued him from the pits of Hell. Yes, L was probably the most important person in the universe to the blond, and Matt, being the loyal dog he was, allowed and followed with a blind eagerness.

So, when he began to dissect the video and listen for any outside noises with a meticulous precision that was almost _painful_, it was for no one but Mello. When he caught something particular, that surprised him more so than not, he only thought of how much better his best friend would feel.

When he relayed it to Souichiro, whose eyes widened in a blatant agreement and excitement, he knew that he had caught something big. The elder played it for all to hear, and suddenly the dread metamorphosed into a fierce determination for justice.

And all Matt did was run to Mello, who was kicking and screaming alone, on the roof, and grabbed the blond by the shoulders and embraced his friend with glee on his face. He murmured into his friend's locks that they had found a lead, that they were one step closer to L, that it was going to be _okay._ And he didn't let go until he felt those familiar thin shoulders shake, and the light chuckles that was to be associated with Mihael Keehl.

"M, Matt, you're freakin', a, a, a riot! God, I love you!" He reeled back with laughter and grabbed his best friend by the wrist, dragging Matt back inside at a breakneck speed. And he didn't let go until they were both standing before a computer, when Mello moved to punch Near for a sarcastic remark.

Now, Matt was never one for intuition, it seemed to be a frivolous past-time for optimists who enjoyed trying to predict the future. Though, for some reason, Matt just _knew_ that it would turn out alright in the end.

Of course, he then felt as though he were something cheesy like an Oddish, but that didn't mind. All he wanted to do, for now, was save L and pacify Mello's rage. Attention World: Mail Jeevas' pride has left the building.

* * *

**A/N:** D'oh! I was so damn tempted to end it with B, but I figured, hell, how many negative endings can this story have? So I made it extra fluffy and gross and stuff. Oh, and I was going to have B bite off a nipple, but that's _soooooo_ overrated.

"Goodbye Horses," it is a good song to listen to when writing stuff like this. I'm keeping it to write every chapter from now on, maybe until the end. Yay!

Soakdjald review, please? I neeed to know some things. Thanks a mil'.


	11. A Lost Cause

**A/N: **Who would've thought that my reviews were as sicked and twisted as I am? D'aww, I love you guys. No, seriously.

Oh, and I have written another Death Note story (is not shamelessly promoting it). It's L and Light and Mello and Matt and Watari, except with drugs and addiction and music. Whaaat?

But, really, thank you all for the wondrous ideas you've all given me. **Nubial Sheep** is officially somewhat of an unofficial muse. And I am telling you (not asking) to read her wondrous story entitiles "In Another's Shoes." It's a tale of Light, L, and Misa-Misa switching bodies. It's quite hilarious, and I verily recommend it.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, man, seriously. DON'T HATE.

* * *

How many days to hours it had been since the great detective had last closed his eyes to dream, L was unsure. Time had become relevant to his enslavement, and he hadn't an obscure idea to how many days he'd been lying in his own feces—he was beginning to rash up, as it were.

The piteous sobbing had ceased several hours after they'd started. His navel would heal with time, and for the moment he just felt apathy; at least, that was what he hoped to feel.

The walls were closing in. He had assumed that the headaches were from a lack of sleep, and his bitter rage was also a benefactor of that. There were numerous times where he just wanted to scream at whoever entered the room, mainly B and that damned phone he waved around.

Light and the Boys (which pissed him off that they were even _there_) had tried to tell him some "good news" but all he had done was tell them, with unsurmountable rage, that they were giving him a headache, and that they should make haste to quiet themselves, lest he shut them up himself.

Paranoia had long since set in, due mostly in part to the visual and auditory hallucinations he was experiencing. He'd long since laid eyes upon movement sweeping across his body, and forms manifesting themselves in the window. Many hours had passed since then, and now all he could do was try to stop himself from incessant trembling and throwing up of his own bile—his throat was sore and burning, the hot acid also taking toll on his once-pearly teeth.

He was trying hard not to lose his mind and rampage against everyone as though he were a rampant lunatic. But it was so damn _difficult_ to not do so. Every little thing, or breath, or anything anyone did caused him to fly into a state of psychosis and scream his top off.

Even Beyond had become wary of the sleep-deprived detective. The deranged man had known the effects to such an act were destructive and negative, but even a captive was slipping into a steady flow of rage.

L hadn't minded in the least that Beyond, in a fit of anger at the prey's anarchy, had torn out chunks of hair and flesh. Of course it was obligatory that he writhed and moaned in pain, but L had thereafter told him to _never_ touch his bodice again, or Beyond would suffer the utmost pain when the detective was free.

L had even gone so much as to attempt to tear his way through the piano wire that cut into his flesh. When pulling did not work, he began to try to gnaw away at it with his teeth, grinding them together in an all together gruesome and inhumane manner. Blood had begun to pool around and stain every ounce of living, breathing flesh. L did not seem to mind, the dizziness and exhaustion were too much a strain. He welcomed the light-headedness with eager arms, a manic look on his face as he continued his vain attempt to break free.

His face, neigh, his entire _torso_ had become reddened as he did not stop. It was a futile, desperate attempt at freedome, but even that sensible, reasoning voice in the back of his mind was telling him to break free.

It would be Beyond that saved him from killing himself with a blunt object to the back of the head. It would be the lunatic that let out a sigh of relief as his toy's eyes fluttered shut in shock, only to sit beside L and stare with a gaping mouth.

There had never been a time in which B would actually _want _the pain to end. Even when it was thrust upon himself, he welcomed it with a crooked, humorless smile.

But this, this, this act upon which L had been doing to himself, he'd be a liar to say he'd seen it before. Beyond had never tested the strenuous account of sleep deprivation—case being that his usual victims never lasted that long.

The results were a success: L had temporarily lost his mind. But it had turned him into an animal, and Beyond wanted to take a _human_, not a beast.

Thus was the motif behind the operation, and for now, B would let him rest.

There would be a whole new realm of tests for when he would dare awake.

* * *

It had been seven days since the fateful warning call, meaning that the team had but six days to locate the exact location in which Beyond was holding their detective.

The clue of the train station was vital, but given the numerous and plentiful stations which situated themselves within the city it was hard to deduce the exact _where_. Too much time and effort would be put into tracking down stations and tearing them down limb by limb until they won.

And, of course, doing so could induce mass hysteria if word were to get out that the world's three top detective were kidnapped by one of the most cunning and insane murderers this century.

So, again, the troupe found themselves in a quandary—to search, or not to search, that is the question.

Light twirled his pen around with a solemn, melancholic look on his face. The teenage god had been unnerved by their recent call from B, in which Ryuuzaki had screamed and, rather vehemently, told them that he would either kill them all, or kill himself if they don't shut up. He'd never heard such a maniacal tone in his life, even from Rue!

He knew he was not the only soul disturbed by the outburst—he'd seen those faces his peers made.

But for some reason this affected Yagami more than he would like. He was empathizing with the victim, and that was no good. To feel one man's pain will only add onto his own; he was a god and gods do not feel for mere mortals.

Sadly enough, he'd attempted to pacify L's rage, and consequentially, Mello's rage

That damn brat had more emotional problems than a Vietnam veteran. After Rue had hung up on the Force (with a shout of surprise as he did so) Mello had pulled out another of his plethora of guns, and had shot a computer with a look of utter loathing.

Luckily, Light had stepped in and, quite calmly, punched the teen in the face and told him that this investigation was hectic enough without his sporadic, passionate outbursts and if he were to continue doing so, Light would forcefully eject him.

Oh, if Light Yagami had ever laid eyes upon such a malevolent, malicious face as Mello's. Though, there was not time for dilly-dallying.

Matsuda, Mogi and Aizawa had begun listening to the subliminals within the current tape, as Matt was busy trying to comfort Mello. Near was staring at a Japanese map and, probably so, trying to discern the general vicinity of the detective.

"You see," the pale child began in a monotone when Light inquired. "I believe that Beyond could not have taken L too far, seeing as it is quite difficult to travel with an unconscious person in your arms without raising alarms. What I am doing is merely attempting to hew down the many numerous stations to a rare handful. From there, it's a matter of mere location identification."

Light was impressed; the child was fairly logical in all of his decisions. It was odd how emotionless he was, however, because it seemed as though he held more apathy than L.

Completely put-off, Light struggled to keep focused, though he did keep wondering about the detective. Was he okay?--though that was a dumb question, given the circumstances, he found himself more concerned than normal.

"I'm going to bed," he then announced, standing from his chair and exiting post-haste; he had made sure to leave no room for questions.

* * *

When L had awoken, he felt, if it were to be true, pleasant. It seemed as though his body had been washed, and that his resting spot was tidied up somewhat. He wasn't sure how long he had slept, but only knew that whatever little it had been had invigorated him; he was pleased to find that all ill-will toward society had dissipated.

And then: "They're coming for you."

L blinked, bewildered, and looked around for the owner of the then disembodied voice. His eyes settled on B, who had a rather angered expression on his face.

"Beg pardon?" He wasn't quite sure if he had heard right (B _had_ previously bitten off a good portion of an earlobe), so it was prevalent he was sure, lest he get his hopes up.

The killer looked murderous, but answered again anyway. "I said, they're coming for you." His voice was strained, grainy. L loved it, reveling in the moment.

Tears threatened to fall, and L could not care less. The defeat look on B's face, coupled by the sheer fact that he was going to be freed from his prison, made L want to scream and cry with joy. It felt as though he could sing, laugh, and do everything all at once.

So he began to laugh—not the odd, crazed laugh of a victim, but the relieved, convivial chuckle of someone relieved. His head drooped back somewhat as his chuckles intensified, but he didn't mind. Hell, it got him to look away from the mag that was Beyond Birthday.

But he was well unaware that B was also laughing, as well.

Of course, he had lied. Maybe it was out of the goodness of his heart, at first, to make his beaten toy happy, if but for a moment so that he could crush it with his bare hands. Or, of course, it might've been to test out another game: L's trust and determination.

And so it began, B thought, sitting down cross-legged in front of L and staring him tranquilly in the eye. Even the act made the detective quiver, he laughed to himself. This was his golden opportunity:

Was he going to break him?

* * *

**A/N:** Blah! I hope you all enjoy this chapter, seeing as I didn't so much. It was too plain and nondescript to me. But, hell, this chapter moves it along, so it needed to be done.

Oh, and do so check out **Nubial Sheep**'s profile. Pweet pwease?

And review.


	12. Pathos

**A/N: **FFFFFFF-

I'm so ridiculously happy at the moment. My witty, bitty Imo is back from her little wanderjahr! OH MY BABY'S BACK (I'd coddle her to death if I could)! For those of you who don't know who my Imo is, check out our joint-account: ImoOzzi. Also, she's known by "Tsukiyomi the Kami." D'aw so cute. :3

Just so you know, _IT WAS AMY THAT WROTE THE FIRST PART OF THIS CHAPTER._ Now thank her and adore her. :D No, I mean it, she's the greatest person on this given plane of existence. I mean bow down to her. Kiss her toenails. I mean it, I do.

_Oh and check out **Nubial Sheep**'s profile/story. Do it, do it. Peer pressure!_

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, man, seriously. DON'T HATE.

-

"_Pale in the dark, not even God-invoking,  
we lie in chains, too weak to be afraid._"

-Sydney Lanier, The Raven Days

**A Vicious Circle  
**-  
xii  
-

His breath caught in his throat with a hoarse little choky noise that reminded him that he hadn't had anything to drink in God-knew-how-long, and he held it in without realizing it, and when he finally did his vision was going funny colors and he exhaled so hard that he felt like BB has just punched him in the solar plexus. Sunrise-colored light shifted in through the cracks in the slats and boards covering up the window, red like the blood all around him –_from him_-, red like the crazed maliciousness in BB's eyes, red like fire and pain and _misery_.

So he cried.

He hunched over with his hands still chained behind his back and he _cried_, cried bitter, wracking sobs that hurt his diaphragm when air surged in and pained him when he wheezed it out. He cried for the sheer _injustice_ of it all. He cried for his mother and his father, who he really didn't remember but _craved_, and Watari, and The Team and everyone else he wanted to see again.

For a long time he was conscious of nothing but sobbing like a five-year-old, which felt all the more shameful for the fact that he hadn't done it since early childhood, when his life had been out-of-control and chaotic and _scary_… just… like… now.

"What?" he heard his own voice mock suddenly, rough with self-directed anger, "What, L? Are you a fucking child now? _Are_ you?" He slammed his fist, his bruised, torn fist, down on the concrete beside him, and winced at the pain. It wasn't the same type of pain that enveloped him constantly, not the dull, throbbing agony that built up until he'd give his soul for it to end. That was, at least, something different than what he experienced as of late. "Ow…" Was that him? Did he really _sound_ that _weak_?

No.

No.

No.

He was _L_, goddammit, the world's best detective! He had faced death and won a hundred times before. This situation, albeit more… difficult, would be overcome as well, as sure as he was sitting here.

Fucking… _lucky_.

"Ladybug, ladybug, fly away _home_…"

Ohgodohgodohgod his breath was starting to be uncontrollable and he could barely hear above the throb of his frantic heart.

"Your house is on fire, and your children are _gone_…"

The singing was coming from all around, a maddening noise, something composed of pure _malice_ and _hatred_ and _sadism_ and something else he really couldn't identify. He was beginning to quiver like a chased animal, which, some partition of his mind realized detachedly, he _was_.

"All except one. His name is is _L_…"

Time almost stopped and L felt _something _collide with his foot and with a panicked _screamyelpcrynononono_ he crashed into the concrete floor, the sheer adrenaline of it all tearing the piano wire from its post; his shoulder hitting first, and it made a noise that didn't sound so good and he screamed again, his lower back slamming into a board of wood, and he reached behind him to shove it away, try to get _upupup_, but all strength siphoned out of his limbs and through his lips in the form of a frantic wheeze as a dark form –_him but stronger, crueler, worse_- appeared, features obscured by shadow in the dim light, hovering over him like a fever.

"And he ran and he ran until he _fell_…"

Cruel laughter erupted, horrible, echoing around the walls and the ricocheting back at him, pummeling him with its intensity. Then the figure arched back and up in joy, stretching its arms out like a god or a prophet.

"And now Hell is where he will _dwell_…"

_Are you Satan?_

But L knew. He knew in his heart of hearts, no matter how badly he wished to deny it, who this apparition was. He wasn't a boogey-man or a vampire. He was a human capable of evil to no end, and for that reason alone his efforts redoubled and he forced himself to roll over -_and was that a nail that just punctured his side?-_ and surge forward, crawling in an exhausted roll and tumble of mangle limbs.

He could see an open window, just covered by a couple of boards, only thirty feet or so ahead. The sight of it was excruciating, like the light at the end of a tunnel, and he felt blinded by it. He couldn't see anything else but that bright, bright light. If he could just get there…

A hand snatched him and before he really could tell what was happening, because his surroundings were just one big monochromatic blur, he was being pulled back in the opposite direction, BB's hands clenched around his wrists. He felt numb, clinical, as if experiencing this through the portal of a game or on TV. The pain was still there, and he could still feel blood, hot, pulsing blood, leaking out of his side, but--

"You've been a very, very bad boy, Lawliet." Being thrown down, crashing into a shelf, being kicked in the stomach, hearing something go _crack_, hearing himself scream. "Are you _listening,_ Lawliet? I'd hate it if I damaged your delicate little ears. You've been a _bad boy_, don't you know?"

He could still see the window, still see that he could slip out of it with little trouble, but he knew that he would never, ever reach it now.

"I had to try," he admitted weakly, stumbling backwards, his spine slamming against the wall. His head fell onto his chest—he felt like a pneumatic bird, a little weak thing to be caged.

"_L…" He refused to meet the man's gaze. "Lawliet, _look _at me."_

_L _

"Motherfucker! Fucking _answer _me, you little bastard! Don't fucking ignore me! Fuck! Fucking answer me or _so help me god _I'll make you wish you were never born!"

L's head lolled back as a punch landed directly in his face. It felt numb for a few tingling seconds, as blood rushed to the area, but then began to throb. "I've wished that for a long time," he forced out, finding it hard to breathe, "so I don't think you could do anything else to hurt me."

His antagonist's voice was quiet, thoughtful, like a soldier with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder after a murderous rampage. "Do you think that?"

"I _know_ that, BB," he said calmly, calmer than he felt. L tried, desperately, to quell the trembling in his arms and legs, and pressed his back against the cold hard concrete wall, if only to get a couple of inches farther away from him. "As much as you dislike it, I'm smarter than you'll ever be, and I'll find a way out of this, and you'll be given the death penalty, and you'll go to Hell, where you belong."

Out came a laugh from the dark figure, with something in the tone that disturbed him. "If _that's _the case, shouldn't I… enjoy myself now?" He took a step forward, and L drew his legs up against his chest.

A fierce bitterness began to drip out of his heart, anger with no outlet. He was not some fucking child to be punished. He was a _grown_ man, a rich man, a smart man, someone who would _not_ become a submissive _boy_. "Go ahead," he goaded. "Hit me. My team will find me soon enough."

BB chuckled, a deep, amused laugh. "But will they _want_ you, when they see what's been done to you?"

"Fuck you." L shifted around so that he was facing the corner. He didn't mean to sound petulant, because it was undignified, but he was. "Go fuck yourself."

A weight fell down on his shoulders, heavy, and it felt like BB's arms. "No," he purred, "_fuck you_."

In about a millisecond, with desperation-born strength and adrenaline, L spun around to face the man, red eyes to black. "W-_What_?" There was a hardness against his belly and L struggled to identify it for a second before-- _oh god no._ This was his last chance. This was fight-or-die, or as-good-as-dead. His ankle was sprained but he could deal with that, and using a move he'd learned a long time ago he wedged his knee between them and pushed back with as much force as he could muster. BB cursed and fell back, rebounding in a second. That chance was enough.

L limp-lunged for the door, hands frantically scrambling around the doorknob but… it… wouldn't… open.

"_Oh_, fucking _no_…" It came out as a weak moan, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up when he felt a presence behind him. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"Oh, fucking _yes_!"

Then he was tackled to the floor and something was _tugging tugging tugging _at his clothes and he arched his back trying to _get away_--

"Get the fuck off of _meeeee!_" He was hyperventilating, he couldn't breath, _pain pain pain. _BB was groaning like a tree –_rockabye baby on the treetop_- ow! Hips up in the air… ow! Nononononono this is not happening this is not happening ((Couldn't you kill people this way, by hurting them internally?)) and then it was done before it had begun and that fucking _psychopath_ was laying next to him twirling his hair and ((He'd seen people who'd been raped before. They were so pitiful and weak.)) "GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" he shouted, shrilly, or maybe he thought it instead because his voice was so hoarse from screaming.

"Someone has been a _bad boy_… do you know who that is?"

Not again. Aren't you finished yet, you monster? Go die. I hate you. I want to die. I want _you_ to die.

"Take a key and lock her up…"

His arms were wrenched behind him.

"Lock her up, lock her up…"

The clench of cold steel closed around his wrists.

"Take a key and lock her up…"

He felt lips on him, biting, hurting, a body on top of him like his own but not.

"Lock her up… _my_… _fair_… _lady_."

-

The tedium that had long since settled in the cold, lifeless room was disconcerting. Mello had known that finding B _would_ be a long, hard process, and he was _aware_ that the only being on any plane of the universe he respected could die, but he found it exceedingly difficult to move beyond how _monotonous_ this investigation was.

He couldn't even fire off rounds, given that in Japan it was "illegal," and every man in the vicinity had the metaphorical "head" shoved up their asses.

Besides Matt, of course, but he was a given.

"You know," Mello spoke to the air, twirling around some locks of blond in a manner that _did not_ resemble his foe, "there cannot be that many train stations in this area. I mean, like, there _has_ to be some kind of abandoned shed by a certain one. I'm fairly sure we're not in an area known for housing homeless people."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Light offered him a daring look; he was silently pleading for the blond to take the bait. Well, well, well it seemed Mello _wasn't _the only one bored around here.

"It means that you're all being lazy," Mello drawled, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "We need to get out on the field and take action! Stand up, sheeple!"

"Mello," Matt intervened, and Mello looked down upon him with a perplexed gaze, "give it a rest. No need for the zeal."

It would be Near who would agree with the teen. "Mello's right. It's blatant that we are getting nothing done. We're just wasting oxygen and space."

"Why, thank you Near."

"It was not a problem. You, for once, made a valid point."

And there was that smug look that Near would share with him every now and then. That damn annoying look that, it seemed, was especially reserved for Mello. "Why I ought'a.."

"Shut up, Mello, we need to work. L could be dead, for all we know. B hasn't called us today." Light smiled at Mello, the condescending tone of his eyes not going unnoticed by the flailing teen.

"Fucking assholes."

-

**A/N:** Lmao. "Fucking assholes," what a grand way to end a chapter. 'Cause, you know, L got effed up the a? Lolwfkajldsad

THANK AMY FOR THIS CHAPTER BECAUSE I'M A TOTAL FAILURE AT LIFE. (insert sad face) Wake up, sheeple!

Oh, check out ImoOzzi. It's Amy and myself's joint-account. Get a feel for how we write, and brace for epic.

And review, and tell me how horrid I am. And stay tuned for more news on myself and Amy. We're going to write another tale together! :D


	13. Breakthrough

**A/N: **Aaand I hate myself for looooving youuu~

I'm a bleeding sonuvabitch, you should all pelt me with rotting feces. I'm srs.

Oh, and I'm going to be editing and re-writing the previous chapters. A lot of shit has happened, and I also had downtime. I watched almost all of the Death Note episodes (only need to watch ep.34) and I read/bought _Death Note: Another Note_. And, might I say that I love that book? And Mello is officially the most bad-ass motherfucker on the planet.

End of story. And I hope you all had a Merry Christmas (or Hanukkah) and a Happy New Year!

**Disclaimer:** If I owned _Death Note_, Shidoh and Mello would've had a chocolate-eating contest, Light would have repented for his murders and become a stripper, and L would have gone on a sugar-induced rampage. On Matsuda. But none of that happened, so I must assume that I do not, in fact, own it. :B

* * *

Two days had passed, L had estimated, since the previous incident. And, regrettably so, they had become more mundane and predictable than he would have ever guessed would be since the initial kidnapping.

If L were to try to attack B, this would result in the very gruesome, very painfully horrific tearing of a fingernail. Beyond would dig under his nail with a needle, scraping and cutting the fragile, susceptible skin hidden. And, while L would bit his lip in a vain attempt to keep from showing his discomfort, Beyond would poke around the cuticle, in his attempt to loosen the nail from its hinges. Then, by the time L was close to tears, he would tear off the brittle nail and thus proceed in waving the item tauntingly in L's face, as if to embarrass him and cause him a sort of disgrace.

If L, perhaps, ignored Beyond in the midst of one of his tyrannical "speeches," he would thus be on the end of having chunks of his hair torn from the roots, inevitably taking the innocent flesh of his scalp and leaving behind a horrible mess of blood that would coagulate and scab over, leaving a horrible, tantalizing itch that would last for hours.

There was no reason for L to be complaining, really. He knew that Beyond had much more potential to do harm, and he should be thanking every single _god_ that he knew in existence—but it was becoming mundane.

Maybe, at the root of it all, he was becoming some sort of a masochist.

L snorted at the idea, though he made sure that Beyond hadn't heard him.

Oh god, he was talking to himself. Maybe it was _L_ who was the psychopath, and Beyond was just bringing him back to sanity it a sadistic, murderous manner. Then again, L rolled his eyes, that could be wrong. He was eighty-seven percent sure that _he_ was the one losing his sanity, and that it was Beyond's fault. And, he was one-hundred percent sure that if he kept making inane calculations and percentages that he would, most definitely, lose his mind.

So he took to watching Beyond, because he'd rather not dwell on himself of his body any longer than necessary. He shuddered to imagine the state he was in; he wasn't one for vanity, but he also did not want to look like he'd been put through a grinder.

He made some digressions and returned to his B-watching. He looked somewhat perturbed at the moment, wringing his gangly appendages through his midnight black hair. While he was feigning sleep, he'd overheard bits and pieces of a conversation Beyond had with Light and the team. Apparently, the had made a breakthrough, and judging by the tone of Beyond's voice, he was none too happy of it.

Of course, bad news for B meant good news for L. He really didn't want to die, seeing as that is an unfortunate event for any one being. Especially in the midst of all the new discoveries that had been unveiled. Death Gods, killing notebooks, and all of these other events that happened before his very eyes..

It was, he considered, unfair- _Unjust._

So, heaving a heavy, though much-needed, sigh, L hoped. Hoped that Light and Mello and Near would combine and overcome their vast differences and save him.

* * *

"You're such a pretentious little prick!" Mello snapped, glaring at Light with the utmost vehemence. "You're just like Near, except I think he'd be much more pleasant company than a little pretty boy know-it-all who feels as though he has entitlement!"

Light rolled his eyes, crossing one leg over the other and fixing Mello a blank stare. "Are you done? Because, unlike you, the rest of us are _working_."

Another poisonous look, and the blond growled. He walked over to Matt and leaned over, snatching possible locations and train stations in the area. "These are the ones, right?"

Matt nodded with a slight smile. "Yep. Given the arrival times and departures given through each call, we've managed to limit it down to three possible locations. Why?"

Mello smirked, looking his best friend straight in the eye. "Oh, no reason. I just want to be _productive_." He sauntered over to the couch before throwing himself at it, landing with a soft thud on the cushions. He stared at the map, assessing each station in accordance to the point in which he was now, his shining blue eyes analyzing the paper with cold proficiency.

"Hm." Mello blinked, biting his lip. It was then he realized that he really, _really_ needed a bar of chocolate. And maybe some cheap liquor. "I'm going for a walk."

"Where to?" Light sent Mello a look, and concealed his general curiosity.

"Oh, nowhere really. I feel like chocolate."

"Is that all?" Near inquired, surreptitiously smirking at the vile glare he received. It didn't bother him in the least that he was close to a pistol-whipping.

"Yes."

"Liar."

Mello fumed, clenching his fists. "Near, I swear to God.."

"I'll come with you." Light stood, casting Mello a weary eye. "I _really_ don't trust you, and would rather be with you in public that have you risk Ryuuzaki's safety."

"Whatever." Mello shrugged, motioning to put on his coat. "Any other passengers? Matsuda? _Matt?_" Mello emphasized the latters name with a blatant look. Matt sighed and stood.

"Coming!"

They departed in a haze of leather, yelling, and some sort of oddly clashing fashion sense that blurred with each other to create some sort of screeching harmony. And Near sighed.

He knew what Mello was going to do. The boy wasn't too good at hiding his emotions, just as Near wasn't good at _showing_ emotions.

With a quick twirl of his hair, he returned to his toys, deciding against telling the rest of the Investigation team. It was no use rallying them up—they'd never stop him in time.

* * *

**A/N:** Woof. This is really, really short. I need to edit this one, too. Don't worry, though, I promise I'll stop sucking.

So yeah, anything. Talk to me. Review. Whatevski, bro.


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